


I Saw You Fall And Thought I'd Come Along

by GeneHuntSyndrome



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blue String Boys, Blue String Darcy, Brief Mention of Suicide, Everyone Needs Therapy, F/M, Grief, Heartbreak, I pretty much pick and choose, Love, Not really at all canon compliant, Sadness, So much angst, Time Travel, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 92,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneHuntSyndrome/pseuds/GeneHuntSyndrome
Summary: Darcy falls into 1940 through a portal, meets, loves and loses the two men who she was never meant to know. Her only choice is to fall back through the portal again, to the 21st century, in the hope of seeing Steve alive.Darcy ran, tackled him with a hug that would’ve crushed a lesser mans’ bones. The feeling of him in her arms released the tightness in her chest, made her breath puff out even as she held him closer. She buried her face into his chest and breathed in the smell of him, still there despite the new century. Darcy let out a sob, a sort of explosion of relief before she realised he wasn’t hugging her back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm posting again, like ten seconds after my last ridiculously long fic, the idea has been bothering me for actual years, and I finished the chapter and I don't like waiting :D  
> Fair warning- this is gonna be sad, really, really sad if I write it right, and I’m not entirely sure it’ll have a happy ending either. There will be depression, and grief and all the adult shit associated with losing the people you love. I was planning on this being a little filler fit in between my normal pairing (Loki/Darcy ftw), but it will probably end up at least 50,000 words, because short stories are not stressful enough to motivate me I guess? :P

* * *

 

 

_The wind was harsher than Darcy had expected on the bridge. The chill broke its way through her thick jacket and across her skin, all sharp teeth and pinches that made her breath somehow tighter in her lungs. She wrapped her arms around herself, her tears damp and warm against her cheeks before they gave up clinging and flew into the dark. Her shoes scraped against the edge as she climbed over the side, arms gripping hard around the railing. The water below looked too dark, too far and too awful to be anything but a death sentence. Darcy took a breath and let her arms loosen a little._

* * *

It had started with an accident. Darcy had been working with Jane, investigating an anomaly out in Brooklyn. The various machines Jane had designed were going crazy, and they chased the cause with a fervent energy that led them right to the edge of the bridge. Darcy hadn’t even thought for a second before she climbed the railing to push her detector forward, up to the sun like an offering. 

Jane of course, had been to distracted by science to se what her well paid but reckless assistant was doing. She hadn’t turned at the stream of words flowing from her mouth, curses at the machine and the world and the way her damn hands shook. She hadn’t turned at the noise of Darcys’ shoe scuffing, her trainers squeaking against the wet bridge as the shitty rubber slid. But she turned at the scream, the one that started and stopped too quickly as Darcy fell off the edge and into the very portal they had been searching for.

The water was icy, clinging to her chest and the shock of it nearly made her drown.  Gasping and pulling air in hadn’t been enough until arms grabbed her, dragging her out to the side. Once her breath was even, and her glasses, miraculously back on her face, she looked up to see the men who saved her. Wet shirts clung tight them, one blonde with tiny bones and big eyes, the other dark haired with lean muscle and a smile she wanted to taste.

Their names were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. She didn’t put it together then, mainly focused on breathing and wondering at the two apparent hipsters who had saved her. She looked around to stop herself oogling them to find a world she’d only seen in films. It had been a Thursday when Darcy had fallen from the bridge, and a Sunday morning when she landed in the water. The years she had travelled were less easy to explain.

Her shock at nearly drowning and then landing in another time had abated rapidly after their lofty declaration that they would ‘take care of her’. It had been some time between her angry response and her half-hour long rant about not being a fucking damsel that she realised they were staring at her with equal looks of awe and fear. It turned out they both had the same taste in woman. 

Later, it occurred to her that falling in love with these men was not a good plan. That the world she had dropped into wasn’t one with long life spans, that war was a thing that shaped it. But she had never been good at self control, and after meeting them, _knowing_ them, Darcy wouldn’t have managed anyway.

The Brooklyn bridge had seemed like an odd place for a portal to open. Darcy had never believed in fate, or love, or anything except pizza and netflix. But the way they met, who they were and who she was, how could that have been anything but destiny? She had never understood the term soul-mates. It had seemed so day-dreamy, so empty, as if people could actually fit that easily in each others hearts. Then she met them, and it made more sense than anything else she had ever heard.

* * *

_If she didn’t jump she would have to wait until he was found, until he was out of the ice to see him again. If she lived until then. It was too long, too hard to carry on the way she was feeling. Bucky was gone, but Steve wasn’t, he was still there somewhere and Darcy cursed herself again for not knowing more about where he was found. So she had to jump and get back to her time. Because the alternative was accepting that both of the men she loved had died. That she wouldn’t be seeing them again in her life. It wasn’t even an option, not when that thought made her chest tight and her eyes wide and the feeling of nothing choked the air from her lungs._

* * *

Steve was so stubborn, caring and such a little shit. Ridiculously clumsy even after the serum. And Bucky was Bucky. Flirty, charming but beneath that thoughtful and a romantic though he tried to hide it. The both of them together? They were everything. They had taken her in, somehow acclimatised her to the world, helped her find work and were the two people she couldn’t do without.

They had taken convincing. To see that just because it wasn’t normal, even in her time, it didn’t mean it wasn’t right. They had fought the relationship, especially her encouragement of the two of them together, and if she didn’t see the way they looked at each other, the way they all looked at each other, she would have let it go. Finally they accepted it, and even though they had to hide, had to pretend it was just her and Steve out in public, the time the three of them had behind closed doors was heaven.

But then war happened, the news trickling slowly and slowly until it couldn’t be ignored and suddenly Bucky was enlisting and the reality of _who they would become_ was too much to ignore.

“I love you.” She had said to Bucky, face pressed into his neck, the warm breath a promise on his skin. She had curled herself into him as soon as they found out he was being deployed, grabbed Steves’ arm and pulled him close when his body had been still for too long. “I’ll come back doll.” Bucky said, voice thicker than he’d like, one hand smoothing down her hair. She wanted to tell him he couldn’t promise that but the words were hard to find between sobs into his neck. His kiss goodbye, to both of them, had been too desperate for someone who thought they’d live.

But he had, somehow, that first time round. He had sent them letters when he could, and they smelt enough like him that Darcy felt homesick in her stomach every time she read one. If anything the risk of Bucky being lost to a war that Steve thought was his duty, made Steve fight harder to get in.

* * *

_Feminism and not having your life defined by a man flew out the window when the other choice was living without both of them. Darcy would have have been ashamed, angry, five years ago if she had been told she was risking her life just to see a man again. But that Darcy hadn’t met Steve and Bucky. That Darcy didn’t know how it felt to go through her days without either of the men she loved. And she didn’t want to wait for herself to feel better. She didn’t want to deal with functioning and life without them there. She was desperate, needed the quick fix of holding him again because nothing could make her feel better until that happened._

* * *

Bucky had been captured by Zola but by then Steve had enlisted and the serum happened. Steve had found him and Darcy breathed easier knowing her boys were together, even if they were still both away from her. The fact that she couldn’t enlist, because of her gender and misplacement in that time, was total bullshit. So she found a way, got the documents she needed and got herself trained as a nurse. She enjoyed the work, needed it really, couldn’t bare the thought of doing nothing when both of them were fighting so hard.

Then Bucky had fallen off of the train, had died somehow, and ripped apart her heart as easily as he had lifted it. Steve had come back to her broken, guilt-ridden and full of hate for a group called Hydra. His rage was blinding, so complete and painful that she wanted him to slow down, for the both of them to deal with Buckys’ death instead of getting consumed by it. But war doesn’t wait for you to be done grieving so Darcy had to cope with that on her own, trying not to see Bucky too much in the younger and younger men sent to her. 

* * *

_Even then, after a month without them, it hadn’t faded an ounce. Darcy had thought that maybe the pain would fade a little, that the whole thing would be if not bearable, then less like it was destroying every part of her. She knew that the chances of her actually finding the portal were near impossible, but if she didn’t try then she wouldn’t even get to see Steve again, and that wasn’t acceptable. Stripping her coat off and fixing her glasses in the pocket of her uniform she tried not to stare at the black water. She hated Steve, for not listening to what she said, for not hearing the truth in her words when she said he fell. She hated both of them for being the only two people she had ever loved, and not being there at all. Jumping off the bridge was the only way she would get to see them again, if she made it through the portal or not. Sometimes, death didn’t seem like such a high price._

* * *

“You died in my time Steve. You were frozen and stuck, and didn’t even get found for 70 years.” Darcy was amazed the hysterical choking feeling in her throat hadn’t spilled over into her words. Instead they were the dull, even tone of someone who had already lost too much. She was facing Steve in some shitty camp she was working in, in France, or some place that blended together too well now. He had somehow been given leave before his next mission, and as soon as he explained the details, everything, the fear in her chest was almost crippling. She knew that he wouldn’t come back. That this was the end for him, but the words wouldn’t work their way out convincingly. It was mad that sometimes she forgot she wasn’t of that time, that hers’ was years away and that he could drop off the face of the world like she fell into it.

“You weren’t with me then were you?” He asked, the logistics of time travel still confusing to both of them.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” _Don’t do it,_ she begged with her eyes. Steve looked away.

“So now I have something to come back to.” He said to the floor, to the walls, to anything but her face. “Now that.... now that Buckys' gone.” The words killed whatever fight she had left, both a reminder of what she would lose with Steve, and exactly why he had to do it. Blue eyes lifted to look at her and he stepped closer. “I’ll come back. I swear Darce. I won’t leave you.” He said, stubborn and so, so sure.  He stared at her, promises in the set of his jaw. “I’ll find my way back.” A brush of his lips on her forehead, her fisting his shirt in her hands as she pulled him down for something more.

Duty meant different things to different people, but for Steve it had meant going to fight Hydra. Fighting the good fight even though she had this feeling in her gut that he wouldn’t make it back. But she had trusted him. Trusted that her presence in their timeline would make things different. She didn’t know what was worse, that he believed he might survive or that she had too.

So when word had gotten through – that he had been lost just as she’s knew he would be, she didn’t think she would be surprised. She thought, stupidly that having some warning would have helped. That knowing he would be frozen and lost to her, that that would let her deal with it instead of feeling like her heart had been ripped out again.

That brought her to the bridge. The spot she had fallen out of, and into their time. Darcy wasn’t sure she got it exactly right, her memory of the day still fuzzy, but she knew she had to try. The thought of having to go on without either of them, in a time that she only loved because they were there, was too much. Darcy had been there so long, and the only thing that felt like home was with either of their arms around her.

* * *

_She knew they would fight  it. That if either of them were there they would plead with her not to. Give a thousand reasons not to risk it. That she could stay, live but they weren’t next to her so what say did they get? She could practically feel them there. Buckys’ arm round her waist, chin resting on her head. Steve would be next to them, Bucky’s other hand in his. His warm body up against their sides. She wanted it so badly she could almost feel the cold leaving, the space they would be warming up. Their hands wrapping round hers, leading her away from the edge and into their arms. But instead there was nothing, there would always be nothing. So Darcy closed her eyes, and let herself fall, wishing there were some arms there to hold her back._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be updating this quickly normally fyi, but I seem to be unable to work unless I'm under pressure, and I'm two chapters ahead already so I thought - hey? Why not?  
> Thank you guys so much for all the feedback it's so amazing <3

* * *

 

 

The landing was easily forgotten considering the way the river punched her body and dragged her down. Even her exit from the water - arms ripping through like it was personally holding her back, did not stick in her memory for long. What did stay with her long after that day, was her first clear view of the 21st century for five years. Darcy lay back on the bank, panting as she patted her pockets for her glasses safely stored away, before she pulled them on with fumbling hands. The world around her was so foreign to her eyes, buildings and sounds completely alien for a moment Darcy wondered if she could survive it. But then it clicked, and the feeling of being back in her world, in her time was so instant and effective that a shaky laugh ran from her lips as she looked at Brooklyn. Sun shone over the buildings, and the noise, so much noise here, made her ears shrink even as they grew towards the sound. It was early morning, Darcy had a moment to be thankful that it was a calm day, and that she had fallen so close to the edge, not to mention that the portal had somehow still existed, before a human sized streak was flying through the air and towards her.

Tony Stark aka Iron Man aka man-child she never thought she would see again, landed in front of her, superhero style, visor lifting dramatically to his open mouthed face. It felt like a dream, being there and only the freezing water and shakes gripping her body convinced her it wasn't one. Wide brown eyes from the suit were still staring at her, head cocked to a side and a wiser woman would have been timing how long he’d been non verbal for because it had to be a record.

“Double D.” He said wistfully, face in a state of wonder and relief, and Darcy realised she had missed him. “Has anyone ever told you you can really work a wet nurses uniform?” Darcy laughed, a loud long sound that she hadn’t heard since before the war stole everything. The material clung indecently to her skin, the coat she had been wearing wide open, and she knew she should have left it on the other side, but some memories are hard to abandon. And wasn’t it ridiculous that part of the reason she’d wanted her uniform was a reminder for Steve, as if she could be forgotten so easily. As if a bit of flimsy fabric would work better than her own body, mind and soul.

“How are you here?” Darcy got out, and Tony was just staring at her, hands awkwardly at a side and she realised he didn’t know what to do, how to help her. He hadn’t bought a blanket and Darcy wasn’t taking the uniform off for anything so she was left to ineffectually shiver until more help came.

“We’ve had Jarvis monitoring the site just in case you came back. You came back.” Tonys’ voice was full of emotion and wonder, wistful almost, before he forgot he had a reputation to protect. “Dressed like a nurse from the forties?” His eyebrows waggled, and he was doing a half decent job of not undressing her with his eyes so she smiled again, too tight with her shivering cheeks. She thought about explaining that there was a reason she l _ooked like_ she was from the forties, but there was a hum and the quinjet was landing not too far away. Her heart started pounding, and Darcy scrabbled to her feet,  eyes wide and desperately searching as the door dropped. People piled off, ones she barely remembered and ones she couldn’t forget, but not Steve. Her eyes scanned the faces desperately and Darcy pushed aside the way her heart dropped. She panicked a bit when she realised that group of scientists, agents and friends were there just for her. She didn’t need this fuss but the blanket was nice, and the arms too and then Jane was flying at her, small and so strong as she grabbed Darcys still aching middle.

“You’re back.” The scientist said, and she was rubbing Darcys arms, her back, her body to keep it from being too cold, barely moving for the doctors who seemed intent of taking every measure of her body they could. Jane pulled back, her face tired and worn, but still young, and Darcy had a second to be envious that time had been so kind to her because it looked like she hadn’t aged a day. They were finally bundling her onto the quinjet, and Barton was there, piloting the damn thing, smiling and saying words that she was shaking too much to understand, and Darcy felt like absorbing all of these people, dragging them into herself because for so long she didn’t think she would ever see them again. He gave her a smile, broad and so so happy, before starting the engine for the flight back to the tower. She registered someone talking to her, realised her and Jane had been left alone. The doctor was looking at their interlocked hands, words and eyes so full of tears Darcy grabbed at the conversation, had to catch up and comfort her. All the thoughts of Steve, having to see him, hold him again were pushed back for a second, not forgotten, just prioritised for the person hurting in front of her.

“We were so worried,” Jane was saying, and there was guilt in her voice, sadness and what had Darcy expected? Five years was a long time to lose someone to another world. “I didn’t know what happened and you fell but now you're back and we spent all these weeks waiting.” Darcy froze, her shaking all but stopped, and she blinked a few times, ran the word through her brain and lips.

“Weeks?” She repeated, and Jane looked up at her, seeming surprised at her voice.

“Two weeks.” Jane replied, and then apparently seeing the look on Darcys face, needed to know everything -  “Where were you? What happened? What did it feel like? How long were you there for?” And Darcy ignored the first questions, couldn’t face that then, because already, arriving back there hadn’t gone how she expected. 

“Five years, give or take.” She answered, but her voice was unsettled, and Darcy herself, felt like she had just lost her footing on something important. 

“Five years?” Jane said in wonder, trying to piece together her clothing, the fall, the way time had drawn lines in Darcys’ face and soul. “How did you find out the portal was still open? How did you know it would work? Did you use the monitor you fell through with?” Darcy didn’t say that the monitor had been lost in the water the first time, would doubtless have been pushed into the back of a drawer anyway, forgotten in normal life let alone a haze of grief. She shook her head, unable to start explaining.

“I …um.” She started, stopped and Jane for once packed away her curiosity and blushed.

“Gods! I’m sorry this must be so overwhelming.” The questions were still there, just trapped this time by better motor control, and Darcy aimed to answer them, would have liked too, but now that she knew Jane was ok, her mind was filled by Steve all over again.  “You’re home, thats all that matters.” She rubbed a hand over her back, trying to comfort her. Darcy nodded numbly, not really agreeing, just wanting Jane to be silent. Home, the word bounced around her head for the rest of the flight, a pair of blue eyes and cheeky smiles the thing she saw, not this land she had fallen back into.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She had showered, eaten whatever had been given to her, and was sitting in a conference room in the tower, wrapped up warm and being interviewed. They didn’t call it that, obviously, in fact Coulson had just asked her to pop in for ‘a quick chat’. She wasn’t stupid enough to take it for face value, understood that they had to treat her with suspicion, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Steve. Steve was what mattered, so after a brief explanation of her time - censored of the great and terrible love that drove her to throw herself recklessly off of a bridge - she said the words that were bursting from her lips the second she landed.

“I need to speak to Steve.” Darcy said, firmly, but trying to be light in her words so they didn’t read too much into it. She had decided to play down her relationship with Steve, just saying they were friends in the war and it would be a trip to see him again. She didn't say she needed to see him as much as she needed food, that seeing him would fill that part of her that had been missing since she found out he fell. That she could finally let herself feel the devastation at Bucky dying without it consuming her.

“Steve?” Coulson asked, and Darcy tried not to grit her teeth, looked away from him and directly into Natashas’ eyes, where she sat to his left. It was a mistake, and she had to dart away, pretend to pick at the papers in front of her, because the spy was far too sharp for her own good, could probably see the desperation written there. 

“Steve Rogers. Captain America. Whatever. He’s here?” Darcy asked, and now both of them were watching her, reading her, and she just stared back, let the fact that she’d just travelled through years show on her face.

“He’s away at the moment.” Coulson said, and Darcy knew this already, knew that if he was available he would be with her, so asked another question.

“He’s safe?” 

“Yes.” He said, and she ignored the frown because relief had made her eyes close, and the hope that had just bloomed in her chest was so fucking amazing after all the pain. She didn’t care what it looked like, what they thought about her arriving with these tales of another time, that they found it suspicious that she disappeared for two weeks in a portal that seemed to open and close just for her. She didn’t care, because him being there, alive and unfrozen was more than she could have hoped. 

“I need to speak to him.” She said again, trying to press the point without stabbing someone.

“Is this some weird ‘I bring a message from the future’ thing, but in reverse?” Everyone ignored Tony, had been ignoring Tony for the whole meeting while he stood in the corner of the room. He had only been allowed in under promises of silence, and really he could just look over the footage later, but he hated being left out of anything.

“You said you were friends?” Natasha said, speaking for the first time, and Darcy just resisted reaching for the chain around her neck, the rings that had been given to her by two men who said they’d come back.

“Yes.” Darcy was sure this wasn’t satisfying for her, could see underneath the blank politeness of her face. To the part that wanted information, details and blood. Everything Darcy couldn’t give out without losing herself to grief.

“We’ll arrange something.” Natasha said, not unkindly, but like she was watching Darcys' reaction. She was grateful, but also confused, because surely Steve would have it written down? Steve would want to see her, would be there except he must be kept up with a mission, some other assignment because nothing else would keep him. She wanted to ask where he was, when he would be back, how he had been since she’d been missing. The ball of dread in her stomach carried her through the night, in her apartment at the tower that felt like another world. 

Her memory had failed her, had changed colours, smells, sounds of this time, and it was so strange to feel out of place in an apartment she had moulded to fit her. Clothes were still left on the floor but the air was stale, too dry. Entering that place felt like breaking the tape on a crime scene, rooting through the things of a missing woman. She was detached from everything, asked Jane and the others for a night to herself to ‘acclimatise’. It had been a small lie, warmed by her voice and the smile she forced. Darcy did it so she didn’t have to pretend, she didn’t have to be enthusiastic about coming back, so she could sleep the time away until Steve found her. She curled up on the bed, the smell unfamiliar and too sweet to belong to her. Her leg was jiggling, even laying down, and her mind too was restless. There was something in her that couldn’t settle until Steve was with her. How greedy she was. A day before just knowing she was in the same time as him would have been enough. But it seemed she wasn't satisfied for long because now it wasn’t. She was hungry for more, his smile, his voice, his eyes on her body. She needed him to hold her and settle the dread that seemed to be smothering her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Darcy had struggled with her clothes, the fit both too tight and too loose to feel comfortable anymore. Rummaging through her wardrobe was like rediscovering fashion from her childhood, embarrassing to pull it on. The bras she lunged for, felt sheer wonder at the material and how it could support her. But the rest, the rest she had to sift through carefully, and hours later, walking towards the Lincoln memorial wearing a beanie, jeans, jumper, she still felt self conscious. Exposed, even though she had shown more skin in the forties. _It’ll pass_ , Darcy thought to herself, _when Steve comes back. We can wear ridiculous old fashioned clothes together and I can finally show him Netflix, and all the other things we never had back then_.

The night had been long, her body unable to adjust to this new - old place. That's what bought her to the memorial, had her standing in front of the publicity laced tribute to Captain America and his Howling Commandoes. She needed reassurance. Needed - proof? Something from that wall that made her not feel so afraid. Until she could hold him, maybe pictures would do.

She walked along the exhibit, watching videos and clips from the time, the USO tour she’d teased him so much about. Bucky was there, in so much of it, and Darcy had to let her eyes skim over him, afraid if they stopped she wouldn’t be able to look away. So she followed Steve instead, something comforting about his smile, even frozen and printed.

But near the end there was a picture that stopped her cold. One from a lay over in the UK. Steve and Bucky, talking, heads close together and the photographer had managed to capture it all. The shine from the streetlamps, the gentle way Steves neck curved towards Bucky, still so delicate after the serum. The small smile on Buckys lips as he listened to whatever he was saying. Except. It was wrong. The picture was wrong, jarring to look at because in the one she knew, there were three people, not two. 

She remembered it well, it had made a scandal at the time, Darcy Lewis, who everyone thought was Captain Americas’ girl, had her hand wrapped round James Buchanan Barnes’ waist, as they both listened to the golden haired hero, the same look of love on their faces as they stood in the street. So this photo, with a space in between them, was not the one she had kept in her purse, not the one Steve had carried with him, clipped from the newspapers. It was wrong, the emptiness between them unnatural, and she had to swallowed down nausea. _They must have been talking before I got there_ , she thought numbly. But that wasn’t how she remembered the night, was sure she and Bucky went there together, caught up with Steve after one of his ridiculous appearances as _Captain America_ , and helped him forget the character he had to play. Breathing hard through her nose, Darcy raised her hand, went to trace the picture when she noticed a woman standing next to her.

She turned to the side, a small flash of red hair enough for her to realise who it was under those forgettable clothes. _Where am I?_ Darcy wanted to ask Natasha, as if she would know. Her hand dropped, found the hem of her jumper as she kept the question inside. Hoping it wouldn’t fester and rot, willing it to lay quiet and not push its way out of her lips.

“Something wrong?” Natasha asked, and Darcy hated her for a second, because she knew her pain would be written in broad strokes on her face. The woman was poking at an already exposed wound, and answering the question could not lead to any good. So she didn’t say anything, just stared forward, warring with her mind about what was happening. She had thought about time travel a lot over the years. Thought about how she could land in another time altogether, another country, another planet. She never thought to be worried about her ties to this one being erased.

“I need to see Peggy Carter.” Natasha tilted her head to the side, seemed to study Darcys’ profile as she answered -

“You worked with her too?” The question was loaded, heavy with implication as to how many people Darcy claimed to have _worked_ with.

“Yes.” Darcy said shortly, afraid of what more words might draw out of her. Those green eyes were heavy on her skin, and Darcy turned, faced them head on, packed her exhaustion, her irritation into the look she levelled. There was a long, tense minute, time trickling slowly and then Natasha spoke.

“Ok.” The spy said, although the next words sounded less like an offer and more like a demand- “We’ll go together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m writing this in a slightly different style to the other stuff Darcy stuff I’ve done. the language is a bit more flowery I guess, but I figured if you’d been stuck in a different time for five years, you pick up some stuff. Also, I really hope it doesn’t seem out of character, she will show more typical Darcy traits as we go through, but at the moment she’s trying to process whats happening to her.
> 
> Next Chapter: Steve and Darcys' reunion (woop woop)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit really hits the fan with this one. On the up side - I did a nice thing and didn’t leave a terrible cliffhanger. On the down side - it’s still really sad.

* * *

 

She’s ill, the nurse had told her - Alzheimers, at her age it’s not unusual. Her memory isn’t what it used to be so don’t expect her to remember you, or much at all. She’s had a long night, and even on her best days it’s getting worse. 

Darcy had heard these things, nodded, understood them in theory, excited to see her friend, but still beating down the odd burst of anxiety that made her palms itch. She left Natasha in the hall of the care home, walked in through obnoxiously bright door frames, and seen Peggy Carter laid out on a bed, looking like an old woman. _That would have been me if I stayed_ , she thought numbly, translucent skin moving as the agent breathed, arms tucked over bed sheets. Weeks before, Darcy had been face to face to the agent, decades younger as they heard the news about Steve. Peggy had taken her hand, stoic and strong, tried to comfort Darcy. Helped her stem the flow of life that ran from her body, for a short time at least. And now, here she was. Darcy walked forward, wanted to slip her hand over hers and say thank you, a million things that wouldn’t get out of her mouth. 

“Agent Carter. It’s me, Darcy Lewis.” She settled on finally, sitting next to the bed and only then, did those tired eyes turn, focus on the woman sitting before her.  Peggys' gaze was stern, which wasn’t unusual, but the wary look in her eyes was, along with the way she held a button in her hand, thumb hovering over the nurse call sign was. She stared at Darcy for a long minute, making the woman shift slightly, feeling like a kid in the principals office, before speaking. Her words came out slow, like she was talking with a mouth full of toffee, and she suddenly seemed restless.

“Do I know you?” Darcy had expected this, wasn’t surprised, 60 years was a long time to remember someone. It still stung though, dug a small splinter further into her chest.

“We used to work together. A long time ago. I know it must be confusing, I look the same but-“ 

“We never worked together.” The words were sharp, and Peggy was frowning. Darcy blinked, felt hit by the words so had to take a second to recover, pitch her voice low and comforting, and not betray the shock waves she could feel under her skin.

“We did Peg. Back in France and Germany for a bit. I was stationed-“ And Peggy had pushed her thumb down on that button, a loud buzz filling the air before it dissipated. Darcy frowned, opened her mouth to say something more, when a nurse walked into the room, asking if everything’s alright. The agent answered her, voice controlled and strong as she looked straight at the nurse and not at her friend.

“I’ve never met this woman before in my life.” The words froze Darcy. Because the way she said it - it was the truth. It wasn’t a half- remembered denial, some glimpse of recognition before the idea was disregarded. It wasn’t even drunk truth - the way people who’ve had too much spill words and phrases out with so much power and pain, even the lies sink deep into your bones until you can’t doubt them. It was the truth. Stone, and stubborn, and undoubtedly what Peggy believed. She was staring at her, absolute certainty on her face and Darcy stood up suddenly, moved away from the woman. She bumped into the edge of the chair, knocking her hip, still sore from the fall, and felt her hand drift upwards, to clutch those two pieces of metal hanging from her necklace. _Alzheimers_ , she thought hysterically, _it has to be_ A _lzheimers_. The nurse, seeming to sense the situation, gently led Darcy out of the room and into the hallway. Darcy saw Peggy turn away to stare out of the window, agitation gone at the removal of this strange woman.

“She does get confused now.” The nurse said with a kind smile as Darcy sat down heavily on the seat. Her warm, comforting gaze did nothing to lift the fog in her mind.

“Yeah.” She said vaguely, what could have been minutes later, and the nurse was already gone, leaving her to sit there and pull herself together. A light body sat a seat away from her and Natasha was watching, but this time Darcy couldn’t paste a mask on her face. She leant forward, clutching those rings tighter as she closed her eyes painfully shut. 

“She didn’t remember you?” Darcy shook her head at the spys’ voice, hoped that would be the end of it when she spoke again, stirring those fast, frantic thoughts in her head. “I looked, while you were in there. Theres no sign of you ever working with her in the Shield files.” Darcy willed her voice to calm, kept her eyes closed and tried not to let Natasha rattle her.

“Well it was before Shield.” There was a small hum, and the blackness she saw behind her eye lids couldn’t block out the next words.

“They archived information from the war. There’s no trace of you anywhere. No photos, no records.” Her head snapped up, rings dropped and bouncing against her shirt as she stared at Natasha.

“What?” They just stared at each other, and later she would realise that this was Natashas’ way of finding out what Darcy knew. Of finding out if she was telling the truth or not, because in that second, she couldn’t have hidden anything on her face. “What?” She said again, scared now. There was a loud, bright hum that lasted a second before the phone was picked up and pressed to the redheads ear. 

“Umm hmm.” They were still watching each other, and Darcy needed to throw up. Which was ridiculous, because the thing making her feel like that, making her feel like the room was spinning and shaking, and sending waves of cold over her couldn’t be rid of that way. “Yes.” Green eyes quickly traced her body, catching on those rings, and her head tilted to a side for a second before moving on. “Okay.” The phone was hung up, slid back into a pocket. Silence again, and that was ok, Darcy didn’t even want answers right then, didn’t care about the phone call, or the missing reports, or a Peggy who didn’t remember her. All she wanted, all she needed was -

“Steve Rogers is back.” There was a pause, a second for her to process the meaning.

“What?” She said dumbly, and then her body was full, relief lifting and carrying it and she was smiling, lost in her own happiness because _Steve was back_.

“He’s heading back to the tower, you’ll be able to see him.” Darcy was already up, grabbing her bag and half running towards the exit.

“Lets go then.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy threw herself through the doors, body instilled with so much movement it was a wonder she didn’t break them. Red hair followed her, and she almost ran across the lobby, ignoring the looks, the people, everything except the glowing light of the elevator. Once in it, she was thankful for Starks’ brilliant engineering, because she would have clawed her way to the common room if it got her there faster. Her body itched with tension, hands closing on her thighs, grabbing at the phantom body she wanted to see.

The doors opened, and there he was. He was turned away from her, but his back, even clad in modern clothes, still arched in the same way his tiny one did years before. Her voice caught in her throat, and she stepped forward, wanted to say his name, something to get him to turn but all she could do was will him because her eyes were basking in the way his body shone round the edges. Someone must have said something, Natasha maybe, because he was turning, and Darcy was filled with that endless energy again, needed to touch him and hold him, and patch up the hole that was only slightly filled at the sight of him.

She ran, tackled him with a hug that would’ve crushed a lesser mans’ bones. The feeling of him in her arms released the tightness in her lungs, made her breath puff out even as she held him closer. She buried her face into his chest and breathed in the smell of him, still there despite the new century. Darcy let out a sob, a sort of explosion of relief before she realised he wasn’t hugging her back.

Darcy lent her head back, despite confusion and worry pulling Steve closer, and he seemed frozen beneath her hands. When she saw his face, she processed it slowly, her mind first accepting the obvious - the beauty that had been gifted to him. His Irish complexion, pale and smooth with two blue eyes shining out. His young stubble, sprouts of hair that pushed out from his jaw, his top lip, and stretched away from his face, short flecks that shone in the light. Cheekbones that were more hollow that she had known, even before the serum, divots that pulled his flesh taut and tense. And his beauty was not diminished by the tiredness, the dark smears under his eyes from lack of sleep, or even the patch of beard he had missed shaving, half a days’ growth ahead of the rest.

What robbed him of his fantastic good looks, detracted from his man-made ability to stun, was, what she would later realise, the thing that made him most unfamiliar - The way he was looking at her. His face was flushed with discomfort, eyes brought down by a frown, and he seemed almost _embarrassed_. Breath was hard to come by, and she took a small sip, unsure how the reunion had gone so terribly wrong. The flesh her hands were gripping made no move towards her, arms fixed rigidly to a side.

“Steve?” Darcy asked, so much fear in just that one word. He frowned lightly, confused, but how could he not be comforted by his name on her lips, her body in his arms?

“I’m sorry ma’am,” He said, cheeks even more flushed than they had been. “Have we met?” Darcy blinked heavily, finally registering the tight frame of his body under hers, the way it radiated discomfort, distrust. She released him automatically, watched numbly as he backed away from her, holding his hands out to placate her like she was some crazed fan. She blinked a couple of times, brain failing to keep up with the information it was provided with. She felt her throat close, her chest banding around her.

“I don’t understand.” Darcy said and Steve looked at her, seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t come up with anything and so stayed silent. That same, mildly concerned, but ultimately blank look on his face. She could read nothing of importance in it, no hint of what they meant to each other and he was unrecognisable, as foreign to her as she apparently was to him. Where was the joy on his face? Where was his unconfined happiness that she was there? That they were both there together and not separated by time?

She thought it was a joke - imagined if Bucky was there he would have cuffed him and told him to stop messing with their girl already. But Bucky wasn’t, and all she was left with was Steve, his ears tinged in pink as he looked at her like she was a stranger.

She thought it was some plan - that Steve had a reason for letting people think he didn’t know her. But he had never been that good at acting, and the dread she had been feeling in her chest just drove it further.

She thought it was hell - where else could she have fallen, that took away everything so effortlessly.

“I don’t understand.” She repeated. She was sitting down, someone had led her to a chair and there were a thousand details she was missing. Darcy couldn't help the words spilling out of her mouth, the same words over and over, becoming a kind of chant. “I don’t understand.” She looked up at Steve like it would make him remember her, begging him to remember something because even nightmares didn’t leave her feeling this alone. “Steve?” She asked, her voice quiet and small, that single word breaking apart, crumbling from her lips and falling to the floor like lead. His face hadn’t changed, a mix of confusion, concern, but still a hard line of suspicion around his eyes that she’d never seen before. There were others now, people around them talking to her, that she didn’t care about because she was trying to understand what the fuck was going on. Steve was right in front of her. But he didn’t know her, he didn’t remember or something. 

The chair under her was soft, yielding as she gripped the sides. She imagined the earth was shaking beneath her, this material the only thing keeping her tethered to it. As if, without this piece of wood and fabric, she would leave her body completely, nothing left to hold on to. _So this is it?_ She thought numbly. _I’m going to lose him again?_  

The first sob surprised her, silenced the people gathered around. Then they kept coming, wracking her body as her hands turned white. She had to look away from him, his gorgeous face now creased in panic as he watched her breakdown in front of him. She was staring at the ground, and suddenly words were pouring out of her mouth between the noises of her heart breaking. She was pleading with him, needing him to stop this, looking at her like he didn’t know her. He had to understand that this wasn’t funny, that he had to remember somehow because otherwise she didn’t know how she was going to be able to carry on, she couldn’t live without both of them. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, he must remember her, there was no other way. He had promised her he’d come back, and here he was so what the fuck was going on? Why was he looking her like that, when he knew her heart had already been broken once, it had been broken alongside his, so how could he do it again?

It fell silent, and she realised all that babbling had done nothing except produce an uncomfortable look on his face. As if she was a hysterical woman on the street, one of those ladies who spewed madness after the war, unable to be calmed, or helped in any way after they lost everything. That splinter in her chest, dug in there from the memorial, from Peggy, from Natasha, suddenly pierced her heart, and the betrayal, grief and anger it let out had to be blocked with a hand, or she didn’t know what would be left of her. Panic was crowding the edge of her vision even as people moved away, a red head appeared and went, saying noises she knew she should understand as words, but all she could do was blink, and hope that somehow, between flashes of black, the world would right itself.

And then Jane was there, next to her, blocking Steve from view to hold Darcy tight. The press of her small body against Darcys’ was not what she wanted, but she was too distraught to do anything but bury her face in her neck and try to understand what was happening. Her hair smelt like cinnamon, coffee and static electricity. Darcy tried to take comfort in it, was already sobbing harder into the long strands, but the person she needed to help her was the one who was walking away, down the corridor, and back to his life without Darcy Lewis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time - We find out why Stevie boy doesn’t remember her and Darcy tries to deal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really fucking heavy. Ummm, I’m not sure where it’s come from, I hope it actually makes for good writing and not just depression fuel, but it will get better/ less sad I swear.  
> Anyway, I guess there’s a trigger warning for depression, grief, and pretty much what would happen to most people in this situation.

* * *

 

 

 

“Jane. What happened?” 

It was hours later, and she was sitting on the couch in Janes' apartment. In her hands sat a mug, hot chocolate, her brain helpfully provided, and Darcy was only slightly worried she didn’t remember it being placed there. Her eyes felt like two sore spots on her face, sensitive to everything they saw, so she settled for staring down at the swirls of steam arching up from the liquid.

“We think-“ Jane started before pausing, leaning forward to wrap her hands around Darcys, the heat from the hot drink passing through both of them. “We think that the past you went back to wasn't ours.” The moisture was curling up from the mug, grabbing onto her glasses, blinding her with water. Except, when she lifted a hand, dislodging it from under Janes' to wipe the fog away, it turned out it wasn’t from her glasses at all. There was some rustling, and a warm, heavy body pressed down next to hers. Not Steves' - it would never be Steves' again, but Thor’s instead, and he took the glasses from between her fingers, large hands careful with the thin plastic. He handed her a tissue instead, leaning his weight against her shoulder, and she marvelled at how someone so large could be so gentle. Darcy rubbed at her tired eyes, unsurprised at the way the tissue clung to her wet face. It was then that Thor started talking, deep voice travelling through her skin where they pressed together.

Thor explained to her that there could be many timelines, many universes going on at once and this was not the one she had travelled back to. He explained it like two pieces of string, one red and one blue. Darcy had started on the blue one, been born on that one, lived on that one until she fell off the bridge working with Jane. She had landed, in the past, on the red string. Met her boys on that string, loved them, lost them on that string. And then her fall, back through the portal, had returned her to the blue string, just a few weeks after she had fallen off of it. The Steve here had never met her. The Steve here had never loved her, held her or cared. This Steve didn’t know Darcy. And she didn’t really know him. She didn’t react to this news, was too numb to vocalise that she understood it, felt it sink in layers, through her skin until the truth of it couldn’t be ignored. Instead she turned to look at Thor, unable to block the pain she felt at the sight of him.

“I called for you.” Darcy said quietly, swallowing before speaking again. “I begged you so many times to help them. To watch over them and you didn’t. You didn’t, and I’ve lost them both.” Her words were unfair, firm punches to the gut, and he slumped down in the seat next to her.

“Darcy. I am gravely sorry.” The emotion in those words made Darcy shake her head, scrunch up her eyes because she knew it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault that the Thor from the other world didn’t have time to listen to people crying out his name.

“I need to go back.” Thor looked away, and now Jane moved in, tilting round Darcys' face so she had to look into her eyes. 

“It’s closed Darcy, the portal closed.” There was so much sadness on her face, and Darcy didn’t let the words steal her breath away, she just grit her teeth.

“Another way. We’ll make another one, find another one. Somehow.” She demanded, and Jane shook her head.

“The percentages-“

“Fuck the percentages.” They stared at each other, and Darcy realised suddenly that this conversation wasn’t about trying to _convince Jane_. The chances of finding a way, not to mention the chance of it coming out in the other timeline in 2011 were impossible. That was the actual word Jane used ‘impossible’ as if both of their lives hadn’t been laced with it so far. Nothing about her life had been average, or even ordinary, so who was Jane to say it couldn’t happen. 

Except, of course, for the years of study, the research, everything Jane built her life around. If anyone knew about the limited reach of science and the people you love, it was her. Maybe once, before the war, and the deaths and the pain, Darcy would have believed that it could be fixed. That even if his body didn’t know her, didn’t remember her, his soul must. He would feel something pulling him, even from another universe, dragging him closer to her until one day it wasn’t this fake stranger looking out from those eyes, but Steve, her Steve shining out and making her whole. But she had touched him, had spoken to him, and seen nothing at all of the Steve she knew there. War had changed her, beaten her down until the only people she fit beside were the ones who had taken the blows with her. Now they were gone, and all she was was a sheet of metal, battered and beaten and formed around other parts that she wouldn’t find again.

She felt suddenly, terribly, endlessly alone. She was washed clean by the pain, emptied out without even hope left to give her shape. There were a stream of tears running down her face, and a hand rubbing her back as another took away the mug she was dropping on the floor. “No.” She said suddenly, and the mug paused, held in the air by Jane, surprised at the sudden shout. “No.” She said again, and this time her face crumbled. “This can’t be it Jane.” She said over sobs, the kind that gripped her chest like a vice to squeeze the tears out. “It can’t be over. He was meant to be here. He was meant to be here.” She was being held, Jane to one side, Thor the other. 

“He is here.” Jane said into her hair, trying to soothe her but it only made Darcy angry.

“He.” She said the word with fury, and pain and so much force she had to take a breath before continuing. “ _He_ , is not Steve.” Her eyes closed as she lent her head against her knees. She had to swallow before speaking again, the sound muffled against her skin. “I should never have come back. I was so stupid to think this would work - of course it wouldn’t work. I would have remembered it my whole life. I would have seen my own face in books, on shows, Steve would have come to me as soon as he came out of the ice. At least if I had stayed, it would have been years, but I would have gotten to see him again.” She didn’t know who she was talking to, mainly herself because she needed the thoughts out of her body. It wasn’t helping, it was just adding new cuts to the ones that hadn’t even had a chance to scab over yet.

Darcy thought of her Steve, waking up from the ice to no-one. To a Darcy who wouldn’t recognise him. And how was it right that she was jealous? That somewhere he might get to be happy, that the red string Darcy would fall helplessly for him because how could she not? And Darcy was here with this other Steve mourning. Because she knew it never worked for her, replacing one love for another. Moving in an identical pet to fool the kids with, same breed, same colour, same name. But not the same dog. This Steve was not hers. He was wrong, a stranger in a familiar body, and it was killing her, being so close to an off brand knock off of the thing she needed.

“It’s not fair Jane. Steve is waking up alone. No me. No B-“ She couldn’t even get his name out, the word sticking in her throat like it would rip it to shreds if it was dislodged. She swallowed it down.  “Alone,” She said finally, “in a new time and I could have been there to make it better.” Her head hurt, aching from all the tears she’d cried and the way it pressed far too hard against her knees. “I’m so selfish. So selfish to try and fix it, so stupid to think it would work. Why am I like this? Why am I like this?” She could feel Janes' eyes on her, large pits of pain and sorrow, too empathetic to look at someone breaking down like she was and be ok. Darcy didn’t know what she wanted, for someone to agree with her? For someone to shout at her, call her stupid, beat her for this fatal mistake? Instead there was nothing but love, soothing words and comfort as they tried to make better this impossible thing.

And it was hopeless, would always be hopeless. She would never feel better because they would never be here. That struck her painfully, and Darcy said the words that were only just formed in her mind.

“I’m never going to see them again.” She said, and hearing those words, from her own lips, was like falling off of the edge of a thing she barely had a grip on to begin with.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

No one told her grief came with breaks. That you could be normal, talking or just thinking and then one memory would pop into your head and sobbing was the only thing your body knew how to do. No one had told her how to cope with it, that work, in a job you hadn’t done for years, in a field that no longer interested you, actually hurt more than doing nothing. That the time you had grown up in felt completely unknown without those two, timeless men standing next to you. No one told her that it didn’t get better. They gave her comfort, kind words, everything they could, but it didn’t help, not really. And so when the nightmares got worse, when the shock, and numbness of actually losing them passed, and she was left with a loneliness that gripped her tighter than anything she had ever known, she wasn’t prepared in the slightest. She was surprised, again and again, by the sleepless nights, by the dehydration headaches, by the cardboard taste of the world she was forced to live in. And when instead of her body healing, it seemed to age even more. Getting thinner, poor sleep and nutrition meaning she struggled with everything more than she already had. Sometimes, late at night she had wondered if she was trying to become that pre-serum Steve, in the hopes that he and Bucky would appear, nurse her back to good health. 

Jane noticed, which was not a small thing for a woman obsessed with science, and started mothering her. Completely reversed the relationship their friendship had been built on, dragged herself away from her much more important work to look after someone who didn’t know if she wanted help or not. They changed her job, moved her out of the lab and into other departments, found her more things to be engrossed with.

Thor suggested nursing again, getting qualified this time. The firm but desperate ‘No’ she replied with stopped them asking more, stopped them bringing it up as a solution to an unfixable problem. She moved into IT, her childhood fascination with computers and hacking almost enough to absorb her into a new world. Days, weeks, months passed. She saw the others, realised how much her relationships had depended on her being light, funny, happy. Darcy couldn’t be that anymore, and without it, she was just another broken person in the tower. Steve had been gone from the first day she met him, off on some top secret mission, chasing someone apparently, and Darcy didn’t want to know anything about it, couldn’t bear to when the thought of him in danger made her sick.

So she started exercising. Boxing first, then some of the martial arts classes the tower provided. Her nights became filled with a focused pursuit of losing herself to movement. It hurt, she was frequently sore, knuckles bloodied and shins bruised from pushing herself too hard, but it was worth it because when she was counting seconds, her muscles straining as they grew, she wasn’t thinking about the monumental hole in her life that could never be filled. Natasha ran a class once or twice, who knows why when there must have been more important things to do, taking an interest in Darcys’ abilities that she had to block out, ignoring the woman who only seemed to take joy in her pain.

Darcy taught herself not to concentrate on the past, or even the future, both of which had been wiped away by Steves’ blank look. Instead, she spent her days in the present, fixing herself however she could to each second ticking past. Life was going by. It wasn’t good, but she could no longer say it was cripplingly bad. It went, and Darcy was learning to be ok with that.

Until one day, she walked into the common room and he was there, wearing jeans and a ridiculously tight shirt, looking nothing and everything like the man she loved. Steve. It was mid-morning, and Darcy had the day off, had been sleeping in although she didn’t really sleep anymore. The weather was miserable outside, but as soon as she saw him it could have been full summer sun, kissing her skin and warming her deep inside.

His name almost came out of her lips, and it was seconds, too many long, drawn-out seconds before she remembered who exactly he was. And who, exactly, he wasn’t. He was rooting through the fridge, shoulders tense and Darcy was being crushed, slowly by this man who looked exactly like the one she loved. She had never thought she was over him, even though it had been months, she never thought it would really get better. But at least with most people, when they lost the person they loved, they didn’t have to see them again and again, showing exactly what was missing.

Darcy felt so stupid, couldn’t look away, even though tears had blurred her vision so she couldn’t really see properly anyway. She started to back away, forcing her body against it’s will, against the part that wanted to ask him to turn around, curl into the wall of flesh and find that spot that seemed made just for her.

Darcy had once thought of herself as a strong person, as someone who could withstand whatever the world threw at her. Then, standing there and staring at Steve, she knew better. Because she couldn’t bear this. She wasn’t capable of seeing him and being ok. It was destruction of a colossal scale, ripping her apart from the inside. Whatever she was before this pain, it had left her, and all that remained was a desperate longing for that man to make things right again. For him to look at her and say - I remember, it wouldn’t be possible for me to forget you. What I mean to you, to me you mean more. You’re life is everything with me in it? You’re lifted by me being here, holding you, looking at you with the love that fills my heart? Those are my thoughts, my words, because Darcy, my world is nothing without you, and now that we’re back together, we'll be ok. It will all be better, and you'll never feel this abandoned again. 

Darcy felt herself waiting, chest full of held in breath, as if he would actually speak, change, comfort her and fix that hole he had made. Moments dragged, and she knew it was foolish, it was desperate, it was insane, but it was a difficult fantasy to leave behind. He didn’t say anything, instead started to turn around, closing the fridge, and Darcy was instantly terrified. Not of him, but her reaction to him. She couldn’t see his face, spun herself out of the room so quick she thought she might fall. Her heart was beating fast, and of course it would be that moment that some Steve - level clumsiness occurred and she slipped, landing on the ground and bringing familiar footsteps up behind her.

There was a long silence, and Darcy willed him to go, willed him to leave and find someone else to ruin with care. She could practically see him behind her, reaching out to help her up from her inelegant sprawl on the floor, not wanting to help without explicit permission. “Ma’am?” He asked, and she held herself there, not looking at him, because it was _her Steve_ asking. If she didn’t turn around, she didn’t have to see his blank face. Didn’t have to see that unrecognisable man and be afraid of feeling things she shouldn’t. It was like hearing a message from _her Steve_. Voice was such an intimate thing, and he could have been whispering it into her ear for all the shivers it sent to her skin. She was washed back to the past, to his wry smiles and the way he said it teasingly, heavy lidded, squashing her up against Buckys front. The memory was so strong, and while one part of her was screaming, the other part was so, so happy because for a moment, it was like she hadn’t lost them at all. The feeling was a dangerous one, too addictive and heady, and she had to fight it, stop it now, before it became something she couldn’t go on without.

Darcy got up, putting an energy into herself she had to dig from far away, pushing her body into standing and moving it further from his. When she finally looked at his face, loved and hated the way it made her feel, he seemed to have finally recognised her. He blushed, flustered or embarrassed, and she wondered how much he had been told. If he had been told to avoid the crazy lady, the one who had lived in a world that didn’t exist for too long, and now she thought he was someone else. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, his eyes were concerned and so easy to look at. She felt herself pushing against the dam of emotion, forgetting herself and seeing another man in his skin, before she remembered, shut that part down and let another emotion well up instead.

Anger rushed through her suddenly, unexpected and uncontrollable. _How dare you?_ She thought. _How dare you not be him? Who are you to come here, with his face, and his manners, and destroy me all over again? Can’t you see that I’m broken? That this has ruined me beyond all repair? Leave me, let me mourn them, your face is too like his for me to look at it and not be blinded._  

He must have noticed the fury in her eyes, opened his mouth to say something and stepping back, such a physically strong man almost knocked over by thought alone. Darcy turned away, had to hold up a hand to stop him talking and calm down her wide eyes and fast breathing. She didn’t look at him again, just walked away, getting into the elevator and not letting herself look up until the doors shut.

She fell as the car shot up, sliding down to the floor, not even concerned about where it was taking her. She couldn’t stay. Darcy knew that every time she saw him it would get mixed up in her head, all of her feelings for Steve, with her feelings for _this one_ , and it wasn’t fair to either of them. He was a ghost, an imitation of someone else, and her mind was too stupid to recognise him for the fake he was. 

The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and waiting on the other side was the person Darcy hadn’t known she needed to see. She stood up, whole body morphed with determination and walked over, demanding the thing that could take her out of herself.

“Train me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the explanation of what happened is clear enough, time travel is a little bit confusing :P  
> Thank you guys for the comments, kudos and views, it's so brilliant to have such a nice response :D
> 
> Next time: We find out who Darcy was talking to, a fly-by of her travels and then back to the tower.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’re comments are just so amazing. The response to this has been fantastic and reading what you guys think honestly makes me see the whole fic in another way, and all the other directions I could take it with :3

* * *

 

 

 

She wasn’t field ready when they started, wasn’t equipped with anything but a burning desire to forget. So when Natasha had asked her why she wanted to be trained, barely raising an eyebrow, as if it wasn’t a surprising request, Darcy hadn’t known how to put it into words. 

She thought about telling her about Hydra, the thing that had stolen her boys in another land, killed one and lost the other. Her hatred still burnt strong for them, a desire to see every last agent erased powerful enough on it’s own. But that wasn’t the only reason. If she really wanted to do that she could help in other ways - with hacking, with admin, with whole other skill sets. So why did she want to throw herself into it? What was it about training her body and her mind that was so appealing that she would risk her life, time and time again? This was a level of self analysis Darcy hated, couldn’t linger on for too long because it took her back to standing on that bridge, willing to jump into something she didn’t know. 

In the end, she settled for this - “I need to forget everything else.” And really, the only time she had peace now was when she was too tired to be anything but calm. Natasha had looked at her in that way she did, stripping everything else from her skin until Darcy felt bared and completely analysed.

“You will not be a liability.” It wasn’t a question, it was an order, one that made Darcy relax perversely. It felt like a promise, like a challenge, like something to cling to and aim for. Whatever Natasha saw in her eyes, it told her what Darcy couldn’t say. The relief she felt was immense, smothering and total. She hadn’t known how much she needed to be taken over by someone else, led by another purpose until that moment. It wasn’t training she wanted, they both knew that, or if it was, it wasn’t training her body to fight, or hurt, or protect. It was training _her_ , training her mind so she could carry on without them.

Maybe that was why she had seen Natasha and known. Because she scared her, had been harsh to her, didn’t trust her, or maybe something else. Something inside her that understood that she couldn’t be trusted with herself. That Darcy, on her own, without someone to guide her and mould her, would not be able to survive.

To an outsider, Natasha seems like the worst choice. She had been pushing Darcys’ buttons, watching her, poking and prodding her until all the pain came to the surface, so why should she run to her? What was it that she saw in those green eyes that made her feel calm instead of overwhelmed? Darcy didn’t have an answer, couldn’t say, just chased her instinct that if she followed her guidance, maybe some sort of routine would appear, and finally she could remove herself from the pain she felt constantly.

“Are you ready to start?” Natasha asked, as if she had been the one to suggest it, and Darcy nodded, followed her lead as she tried to keep up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They moved around almost constantly, Darcy dragged along on reconnaissance at first, leaving the tower that day to work around the US, apparently Hydra bases wouldn’t hunt themselves down. She picked up what she could, and Natasha taught her the other things she had to learn. Darcy wasn’t in the field to begin with, mainly tech support, roaming and monitoring and helping out remotely where she could. She adapted, moulded herself to be useful, because they really both had the same aims - hurt Hydra as much as they could. Hate for them was an emotion that Darcy clung to and nurtured, for better or worse, because those people had stolen both of her men from her.

It struck her as strange that she would be allowed along at all, being completely unqualified for this kind of work, despite her past life as a nurse in the field. But she didn’t question it, didn’t want to and so followed the spys’ directions to the letter. They fought nearly every day, Natashas’ own style of combat a permanent challenge that she aimed for. Darcy learnt how to use firearms properly, how to move with stealth and speed, basically pushed herself with the constant beat of _improvement_ in her head.

Natasha was a comfort. Darcy hadn’t really known her before, had been aware of her of course, living in the same building as a world renowned spy -assassin was something to be aware of. Especially the Black Widow. Darcy knew enough of people and their _personas_ to know that her whole identity wasn’t that name. They fit together well, both of them with secrets, painful pasts, but ultimately strangers to begin with, who expected nothing but hard work. 

She didn’t know her, so for Darcy it was like starting clean. She didn’t have to be kind, or funny, or warm like she supposedly once was. She could let her pain show in her movements, in her words, because Natasha had been there too, had made mistakes and understood working to forget, to make amends. Darcy could be bitter, and angry, and every feeling she wanted because Natasha wasn’t someone she had to protect. The others, Thor, Jane, Tony, Barton - they all cared too much. They saw her as a civilian, someone who had suffered terrible pain, someone who they loved and wanted to protect. 

They wouldn’t understand if Darcy said she couldn’t take it any more, if the loss of Steve and Bucky left her with nothing of her old self. Natasha did, without her even having to say anything, pushed her harder day by day until the thoughts that caught her off-guard and robbed her of breath became less and less common. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“You know they thought you were a spy when you first came back.” They had moved on to europe trying to hunt down safehouses', cubby holes where rogue Hydra agents might be hiding. They were in Poland, wrapped up warm on the crest of a small hill, and looking into the village below. Natasha was talking to her, but not looking at her, a combination that suited Darcy just fine.

“What?” She answered, turning away from the binoculars to look at the assassin.

“That you’d been sent by someone to infiltrate the group. To hurt Rogers.” Natasha said this casually, looking through identical binoculars.

“Thats-“ She started, not even really able to put her anger into words. That they thought she was capable of coming back just to ruin Steves’ life. And then she thought about Hydra, what they did and decided it wasn’t as improbable as she first thought. “Fuck. You didn’t?” 

“No.” It was so simple and direct, and Darcy knew her well enough now that if she wanted more information she had to ask for it.

“Why not?” Her voice was small, Natasha turned from the sight, looked at Darcy with that straightforward look. The one that Darcy, stupidly, trusted because it said - what I’m about to say will probably hurt, but it’ll also be honest.

“Because I saw your face when you told us Steve Rogers was your friend. At the care home, and the memorial. And then again when you saw him.” Darcy had to look away, picked up the binoculars numbly to search for the target, look in through her hotel room window.  

She felt ashamed, almost embarrassed. The level that she had been broken to just on seeing him. That her meltdown had been so public and wide -reaching, so unbelievably awful that it couldn’t be anything else but honest. Even mentioning it, months and months later, it felt like re-living it all over again, put her right back in that place, having her life ruined by indifference.

 

 

“I hated you.” She said quietly, hours later. They had followed the target, set up in a window opposite her hotel room and were now waiting for it to get dark. Natasha was sat elegantly on the floor against a wall, cleaning a gun, and it seemed to Darcy that for most people she would have to give context. That she wouldn’t be able to pick up a conversation they had dropped long before and expect them to keep up. “I was so angry, even after. I thought you were just pushing me, trying to hurt me more.” Natasha was looking at the weapon, seemed completely engrossed in the task but Darcy waited. She looked up finally, giving that face again, full of simple, painful truth as she answered -

“I was.”

Maybe Darcy should have felt stung, should have felt angry that she had just admitted to trying to hurt her. Instead, after a brief moment of shock, she shook her head, almost laughing, just catching a look of surprise on Natashas’ face.

“Bitch.” This she said with a smile, not really surprised at all. She thought she saw her lip twitch before the red head went back to gun cleaning.

“It’s my job. You don’t really know someone until you’ve put them under stress.” Her voice was clinical, but also dry. Like she was repeating an especially stupid phrase her teachers had drilled into her. Darcy raised her eyebrows none the less.

“Thats cold.”

“It’s my job.” She repeated, and Darcy snorted, smiled wide, shaking her head before it faded. 

“So? You think you know me now?” Darcy was light with her words, but felt weighed down by what the answer could be. She hated the thought of being so transparent, that her pain could shape her forever, change her into this one-dimensional thing instead of the rounded, complex person she was before. Natasha looked up, searched her face, and Darcy wondered how good a mask she was putting on. 

“Not completely. You’re hiding something.” Darcy couldn’t control her reaction, tried to limit it to just a swallow, a small widening for her eyes, but she knew it was useless to try against Nat. She didn’t touch those rings though, knew if she did the game would be up, and then there would be questions, too many questions about Bucky, how her suffering didn't start and end with Steve,  and she couldn’t take that.

“And?” She asked eventually, aware that she had been quiet for too long. Natasha didn’t answer, just fixed her with those eyes, sharp, sharp, sharp and then she blinked, and they were almost soft. She shrugged, stood up from the floor.

“Just that - you’re hiding something.” And this was one of the many reasons she liked Natasha. It wasn't - I’m going to make you tell me what it is. It wasn’t - It’s stupid of you to try and keep things from me. It wasn’t even - I’m not going to try and work it out. It was judgement free but complete acknowledgement that whatever Darcy was hiding she would discover eventually. It was comforting, no pressure and made the secret seem like a small thing, and not something that if she said it aloud, would rob her of everything.

“Are we gonna shoot this lady or what?” Darcy asked lightly, watching as the assassins’ lip twitched up. Then Natasha lifted the gun, and handed it to Darcy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Peggys’ funeral came and went. Darcy was in Italy, undercover for a change, left to work in a small village while Nat disappeared. She had been told about the funeral, informed in Natashas' even way, and when, after thinking about it long and hard, she had said ‘No’ to going, it was met with the same neutrality. She didn’t ask why, didn’t question it, just nodded, produced a mission dossier, and left Darcy alone to cope. 

It had been eight months since she came back through the portal, and even a small time before, Darcy wouldn’t have trusted herself on her own. Couldn’t have handled just sitting with her own thoughts. But this time she welcomed it, allowed herself to grieve for Peggy, not this woman here, but the one she knew before. The one she had worked with, respected and admired. 

It hadn’t felt right to go to the funeral, she still felt like a stranger in this world, or at least to Peggy and everyone else from back then. It hurt again, how much she had lost coming back to the wrong universe - not just Steve and Bucky but everyone else. The Howling Commandoes, Buckys sister Rebecca, or at least her children, grandchildren. Everyone she had loved from that time wiped away by her reckless mistake. 

She thought about the other funerals she had attended - Steves, Buckys. How maybe, they really were the right times to say goodbye. That she didn’t get a second chance at any of it, that they were dead and perhaps, she finally had to understand that. This time when she cried, sobbed, grieved properly for those men it didn’t feel quite as awful. It didn’t feel like she was being emptied out, ripped of everything she was, instead it was like she was accepting it for the first time. Taking in the knowledge that they wouldn’t be coming back, and maybe, now, she could live with that.

When Nat returned Darcy was different. She had managed to integrate into the local community, monitor her target for the whole period while remaining undetected. The spy didn’t ask her how it had gone, seemed to take it for granted that Darcy would be fine left on her own. It made Darcy feel stronger than she had before, wondered if all along she just needed someone to stop telling her it would be ok, and let her work it out by herself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They had arrived at a suspected Hydra site to find it burned to the ground. Natasha seemed unconcerned by this, and Darcy didn’t ask any questions. It wasn’t the first one they had come across, sites all over europe taken down before they could get there. Darcy felt stupid that for the first time, she realised they weren’t the only ones hunting Hydra down. So instead of killing agents, they went out drinking. It was an experience, to put it lightly. They had caused, gotten into and quickly ended two fist fights, and one that looked set to involve artillery before Natasha showed her how to threaten people _properly_. They went dancing, finding the seediest place in town to stir trouble up. It was fun, exciting, and Darcy hadn’t realised how much she missed letting completely loose. They returned to the hotel in the early hours, worse for wear, not that you could ever really tell with Nat, still unruffled and walking like a model.

They were in bed, were sharing a room under the cover of a couple, and lay side by side on the bedspread. They were both staring up at the ceiling, and there was something magical about the almost dark. Laying next to someone and feeling the silence draw out all the secrets. _That and the alcohol_ , Darcy thought, the words stirring against the edges of her brain like ice in a glass. The buzz she had was fading, so she grabbed the vodka from between them, pulled it to her lips and took a long drink. Realised that the thoughts appearing in her mind no longer had a barrier to her lips.

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it happened at all. I feel like. Like I went crazy you know.” The words were said jokingly, but underneath there was an undercurrent of fear. She didn’t know whether to curse the alcohol or thank it for letting her say things she otherwise couldn’t. 

Darcy had felt like that constantly after she had returned and seen Steve, been broken by him being himself. That her past with them had been completely erased, and worse than that her future too, because she had never been able to imagine one without Steve, and now she had to live in it. She had wondered if she just hit her head on the water, was stuck in some dream state all that time, no one here to confirm her madness when she woke up.

“Maybe I never really knew them. Maybe it was all in my head. I have all these memories, but they get weaker, constantly get weaker and I can’t stand to write them down.” She was babbling, but thankfully not crying this time. Darcy didn’t know what she wanted from Natasha, if she wanted her to comfort her, to help her. Or just to listen like she was. “The only real, solid thing I have, is those stupid clothes I was wearing when I jumped. And these rings.” Her hands had found them, always managed to find them when she was stressed, tired, any feeling really. Darcy saw Nat look at them, the two circles side by side, hanging precariously on a thread, and didn’t even seem curious that the both of them were obviously wedding bands. Didn’t question why Darcy would have two of them instead of just one. 

“These rings.” She said to herself, settled and unsettled by the proof in her hands. A sadness swept through her, and she understood that while she kept them with her, she would never really let them go.“I think.” She started, swallowing tightly as she realised the truth in what she was saying. “I think I need to throw them away. I don’t think I can move on with them right here.” She was staring at the metal, moonlight shining through the windows and onto her hand, giving them a strange colour she couldn’t turn away from. Nat moved, and Darcy felt her hands tighten protectively on them, before she reached over her and grabbed the vodka. There was silence again, and Darcy wondered if she was going to say anything at all. If this was a step too far in their strange friendship. 

“If you need to get rid of them, give them to me. I’ll keep them safe.” Nat said quietly. “One day you’re going to want them back, and when you do, I’ll have them for you.” The rings blurred in front of her eyes, a wave of emotion catching her off guard in her drunken state.

“Maybe later.” Darcy said with a small watery smile, and they both knew that she wouldn’t give them up, but that Natashas’ offer was just as sincere and meaningful. The woman took another swig and Darcy let her eyes drift shut, feeling tiredness mingle with the drink until she was light around the edges.

Darcy had a brief moment of wonder, that maybe all of this had been an extended interrogation. Maybe Natasha didn’t really believe her story, had just let her spill her secrets in her own time. That all this time of them working together, growing closer, had been part of something just to draw the past out of her. This seemed plausible, likely even, but Darcy decided against it. She thought of all the times Natasha had looked at her and known exactly what she needed, helped her to put the past behind her instead of drawing it to the surface. Done it without any outward emotion, but nonetheless helped her like it was nothing. That didn’t seem like manipulation to her, that just seemed like friendship. She turned, watched the woman in the half light, beautiful and cast by the moon. She realised what a waste it was that people only saw what lay on her skin and not the complex, terrible, amazing human underneath. She thought about the way her words had been drawn out, slowly over time, and each one had helped her somehow. How maybe without Natasha there, teaching her, listening, she might not have survived the year.

Then Darcy wondered if Natasha had anyone to tell her secrets to at all. If she trusted anyone like Darcy trusted her. Or if she kept all her words bottled up, because no one was there to draw them out.  If Nat even understood how much she had helped Darcy, that she would do the same for her if she ever needed it. She shot up quickly, straight up on the bed and Natasha followed reflexively, hand grabbing for the knife she kept sheathed on her thigh. Darcy stared at her hard, sudden clarity in the haze she had been in.

“Can I hug you?” She asked, maybe a little loudly, and Nat blinked once, slowly, eyebrows ticking up before dropping right down.

“Why?”

“Please?” She said, and it might of been the vodka, but Darcy had a feeling that this was very important. That she had to do this thing, if she did anything else that night. Because Natasha meant a lot to her and she didn’t have the words to say it, so this would have to do. Natasha nodded quickly, her face changing from confusion to a bit of panic as Darcy grabbed her, wrapping her arms around tight. There was a huff of breath against her shoulder that made her hair puff, grip the air like it was dancing before it settled.

The hug was brief, only a few seconds and Darcy was about to pull away when she felt arms come up and wrap, warm and firm, around her. Nat gave her a squeeze then released and Darcy did too, moving away and back to lie on the bed.

“Thank you.” Nat said eventually, and Darcy didn’t point out that she was the one who had asked.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first time she saw him on the news, fighting some evil that the world had thrown his way, she was sick. It had been nearly a year since she came back, and Darcy hadn’t seen this Steve in a long, long time. He was fighting well, always did really, but that didn’t make a difference. Not when the robots he fought still managed to cut him, chase him, hurt him and the people recording couldn’t keep up with the action. There would be moments when he would dart off screen, evade capture from the lens, and Darcys’ heart would fall from her chest. A panic would grip her until, eventually he would re-appear. She knew he wasn’t her Steve. She knew that they hadn’t lived together, she hadn’t looked after him with Bucky when he was ill, felt as protective of him as a vulnerable body part, but she couldn’t separate them.

Her stupid body couldn’t tell the difference, it didn’t know not to react. It already cared, and loved and pined for this man she had never really known. It took her back instantly, to the last time she had seen him. Whatever recovery she thought she had wasn’t really recovery. It was a pyromaniac without access to matches, an alcoholic without alcohol. She had recovered yes, as long as she never had to see him again in her life. She still watched though, couldn’t drag her eyes away until the battle was over and he was seen heading back to the tower, no permanent damage done.

Darcy turned off the tv, stared at the wall emptily until a knock at the door jostled her. She let Nat in, thankful as always that she had an ability to understand when questions shouldn’t be asked. Nat sat down on her bed, and strangely, looked at her hands. Was rolling words over in her mouth, and Darcy had never seen her hesitate before. 

“We have to go back.” She said finally, and dread filled Darcy. Those tears that had been falling before started up again.

“Why?” Was that really her voice? So afraid? 

“We have to.” Nat said simply, and Darcy wasn’t satisfied with this answer but knew it was the only one she would be getting. 

“He’s there?” She asked quietly, and Nat nodded. Darcy felt like a child suddenly, her whole body resisting, like she was about to have a tantrum on the floor. She hadn’t felt that level of frustration in years, the utter anger at the unfairness of the world. She tried to say in her look, when Natasha finally met her eyes - I don’t want to. I don’t know if I can survive it. When that didn’t work, instead she said the most she could manage to.

“I’m not strong enough.” She admitted, knew it certainly after seeing Steve on tv. And the spys’ face changed, sharpened to a furious point. Was angry at those words and replied to her, strong and full of promise. A guarantee that Darcy tried to believe.

“You are.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I’m a bit in love with Nat and Darcy. I feel like together they could just kick the worlds' arse and have the best dysfunctional relationship ever.  
> Next Time : Darcy talks to Steve, and guess who’s back?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky! Yay! But also a massive chapter of more sadness, and feelings and pretty much this fic carrying on it’s way. If it’s any consolation, I planned this whole thing to start in the darkest place and slowly get lighter, so this could be considered the darkest part, maybe. Even the darkest timeline for any community fans ;)   
> As always, I love you guys, it means so much to me everyone who reads/leaves kudos or especially comments on this fic, so thankyou.

* * *

 

 

Darcy spent the journey back to the states in a sort of haze. A numbness as she tried to prepare herself for the emotions seeing him again would bring up. The happiness, the aborted joy that she felt every time she saw Steve. Then the hurt, all the grief as she had to watch this distorted mirror of a man. And the guilt. The permanent, never ending guilt and self loathing, that somewhere Steve has to wake up all alone and it’s her fault, that she could have stayed, might have died before she saw him again, but at least he would know she hadn’t abandoned him. It wasn’t even him, really, it was always how she reacted. That she always looked at this Steve and saw more than just cells formed the same way. Instead she put all of the characters of _her Steve_ onto him, imagined they were the same person, and could only be disappointed when reality showed they weren’t.

On the ride back from the airport it was Happy Hogan driving them. When they arrived he got out and opened the door, smiling down at Darcy before pulling her into a quick hug. They had gotten to know each other a few years before, Darcys’ near constant trips to get coffee and food at all times of night, meaning she got friendly with the Towers’ security.

“You look better.” He said to her gently, and Darcy was struck with how accurate the word was. Because better in this case, didn’t mean good, it didn’t mean well. It meant better, as in, not worse than before. And that was probably a perfect description of her current state. The time away had done her good, and even though she was afraid to see Steve again, at least this now she had a bit more strength on her side. She was prepared, as much as she could be, and it wouldn’t be an unseen knife to the ribs like before. She smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek that left him blushing, before catching up with Nat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“He’s probably up there somewhere.” Darcy said. They were sitting in one of the many cafes’ in the Tower, ridiculously oversized coffees on the table in front of them. She had been hiding downstairs, like an adult, for an hour since they got back. It had been surprising Nat had indulged her at all, even more surprising when she let her drag the time out, nursing a coffee for longer than was comfortable.  She felt a fond smile on her, looked up in time to catch it fading away before Nat took a long sip of her drink, not even a foam moustache on her lip.

“You have to get it over with at some point.” She pointed out, and Darcy suddenly didn’t feel like coffee anymore. She put it down, frowning into the cup.

“Do I?” She asked wryly, a brief smile before it left. Natasha waited until she looked up, trapped her eyes in those bright green ones. They watched each other for a second and Darcy was confused by the look on her face. Like she was deciding what to say, or at least, considering something.

“I can’t go up with you.” Nat said finally, and Darcy made an involuntary sound, felt the floor drop out from underneath her. Her face changed, disappointment and panic drawing it down.

“Why not?” She asked quietly, and the spy hesitated a second before answering.

“I’ve been called into a meeting.” 

“Oh.” Darcy said, feeling that there was something off about the situation, wanted to ask her what was really going on, because if Nat wanted to lie to her she normally did a better job than this. She could have cried, hated that she was so vulnerable without even seeing him. Nat looked torn for a second, then her face hardened as she spoke.

“You will survive it.” It sent chills across her skin, and Darcy wondered if it was a blessing or a curse, these words she had just said. She didn’t doubt the truth of it, and it scared her because survival wasn’t the same as being ok. Darcy frowned and something pulled at her mind, picked up on not the things Nat had said but _the way_ she was saying them. Because it felt like more than her just seeing Steve. If felt like something else entirely. She opened her mouth to say something else when Nat spoke, stood up, taking her hand and lifting her up. Like she could tell that Darcy didn’t have the strength to do it herself.

“Go now.” She said, squeezing her hand once, tightly before walking away. Darcy watched after her, feeling alone for the first time in too long, before heading over to the elevator.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Hey.” She was in the lift, resisting touching her rings when the guy spoke. He was tall, good looking, and before everything, before the portal, Darcy would have been climbing him like a tree.

“Hi.” She replied, gave him a small smile even with her nerves.

“Sam Wilson.” He introduced himself, had warm eyes and a fantastic grin that she found herself somehow mimicking, even as one eye watched the floors creep higher.

“Darcy Lewis.” She said, and his face changed, recognition and not a little bit of pity flashing on his face before he recovered. _Not a spy then_ , she thought, even as the reaction sent a twinge through her.

“I’m Steves’ friend.” He said, letting that fact hang in the air. Darcys’ body tensed at the name, but then he started talking, filling the space, and she was impressed with his ability to try and turn it around, even if it was pretty damn unsubtle.

She was half listening to the conversation, trying and failing to pay attention to the charming man because her heart was frantic under her ribs. Her breath was shaky, a nervous rabbit about to face down a fox, and she could only watch the numbers shine, die out and shine again as they got closer. _You can do this_ , Darcy thought. _It will be ok, you can do this_. For a moment, standing there, she almost believed it.

So when they arrived in the common room kitchen, Darcy was terrified to realise that the ghost standing there, the man who she loved in another world, there in flesh and blood but lacking in the memories she tried not to cling to, was not the one she expected. The ghost was someone else, standing by the coffee machine, eyeing it like it had personally offended him and this had to be a dream. His features caught her eyes like a shiny coin - Blue eyes, plump lips and a face she never thought she’d see again. 

Darcy froze, felt Sam’s body bump into her back, and that was when he looked up, bright blue eyes straight into hers like an electric shock. She could actually feel the blood drain from her face, like some sort of tribute, her blood leaving to give him life, and Darcy wanted to ask Sam if he was seeing him too. Thought numbly that blood loss was a worthy sacrifice to see him again.

“Bucky?” She said, and it was the first time since she’d come back that she managed to get his name out clearly. The sound of his name, so instinctive coming from her lips almost made her jump. His hair was long, hanging around his face, obscuring most of it but she recognised him instantly. The air left her lungs, and the thoughts bubbling through her head were conflicting. Shock, then something like hunger or need. To reach and touch Bucky, hold him, feel him under her hands and make sure this wasn’t a dream. This went too, reality catching up to her that this man who was watching her warily, poised as if to fight, was not hers. The ache _that_ caused, bittersweet and desperate, encompassed the whole of her. Because she was so, so happy Bucky had survived. He just wasn’t the one she wanted.

“He’s alive?” She said suddenly, aiming the question at this man, and not someone who could actually answer it. _He’s alive. Bucky’s alive._ The thoughts were lightning, and the process quick as a blink. _My Bucky. He must be alive too, I can find him, help him, he’s ok. It can all be ok._

“Do you two know each other?” Sam asked, moving round to the side of her, although by now he must have worked out the answer, and this time it didn't reduce her to rubble. Darcy was still staring at this man, unable to control all the thoughts being telegraphed on her face, as he eyed her warily, and also like _he_ didn’t know the answer.

It said a lot about the situation that Darcy hadn’t even noticed Steve standing next to him. The two of them together, even in jeans and modern clothes made made her eyes soft, round and open. Taking in all they could because it was a sight she didn’t think she’d ever see.

“Miss Lewis.” Steve said, eyes flitting from her to Bucky. Widening when they saw the look of absolute emotion on her face.  “Can I have a word with you in the other room?”  Darcy snapped her head to him, blinked away the look that was pasted there and met his eyes. For a second she wanted to run over, to scream with joy because _Bucky was alive_ , and how could they be anything but ecstatic? In a flash it zipped by, and she refocussed, stopped seeing the Captain as someone she loved and instead as a source of information.

“Ok.” She said, nodding, dragging her eyes and body away from them and down the hall to the tv room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He was talking to her lowly, voice stilted, like he was trying to calm her but not really sure how. They had gone into the room, Darcy leading the way in long, urgent strides as she tried to push past all the emotion and focus.

“You’ll just confuse him more Miss Lewis. He already has memories missing, he doesn't need even more confusion. It’s a difficult sit-“

Steve carried on, monologuing, some speech that she realised he’d rehearsed. He’d been told that she would come back, that she might have some reaction to Bucky. It was nice, that at least he got to handle these situations with some sort of warning while she was left to spill her misplaced feelings all over the floor, blood from a freshly opened wound. There was an anger in her ears, drumming loudly that with the adrenaline from seeing Bucky alive again, made a heady combination, had her snapping at him mid-sentence.

“Stop Steve.” Darcy cut through his words and he was silent, like his body had unwillingly done it, mouth open as he looked at her in surprise. “What happened to him?” Her voice was brusque, sharp, completely determined to find out everything it could.

“It’s classified.” Steve said in his Captain America voice, the one she and Buck constantly teased him about, and the rabbit hole was there, all those memories to get lost into, but his answer had fed that fire under her skin. So Darcy rounded on him, turning to look him straight in the eye, something she had avoided as much as possible before. She drew herself up and spat the words out.

“Bucky is mine too. _He_ might not be.” She pointed back in the direction of the kitchen. “But _Bucky_ is. So tell me what happened to him.” Darcy glared hard at him, had been told enough times by a version of the same man that her look could bring him to his knees and so was irritated when it didn’t. Instead just produced a curious flush on his cheeks, patches of red and he didn’t seem to know how to react. Frustration spiked through her, a sharp jab and the next words were out of her mouth without thinking.

“Steven Grant Rogers. Your mother raised you better than to ignore a question from a lady, so open your mouth and give me the information I need.” It was a tone from another time, one she’d had to use with the two of them mostly. When they’d both gotten into a fight, or endless amounts of trouble and she wanted the truth out of them. It slipped out then, iron will, completely un-ignorable and it had the same reaction even on this Steve. 

He told her, quickly, almost removed from emotion, about how he had found him. How the Winter Soldier, the one she had seen on the news, seen him fighting, was Bucky all along. How for the last year he had been chasing Bucky, trying to convince him to come back, get help, do anything except be out there alone. That Bucky had finally come back a few months ago, surrendered himself for assessment until he was allowed to come and stay at the tower under supervision. Whatever had been triggered in him on seeing Steve, it had itched and clawed at his programming, let him regain enough of himself to try and get help. After taking down a selection of bases, of course. Darcy was open mouthed, listening to this. She was furious and had to remember who she was talking to, not get lost in the rage she felt at Steve for not telling her. For not letting her know that Bucky was alive all this time. And then he started filling her in on the years before, and Darcy didn’t have room for anything else but pain.

He told her there was a file, if she wanted to read it, but the short version was that he’d survived the fall from the train. He’d been taken by Hydra, experimented on, brainwashed and tortured until he followed their orders. That they kept him cryogenically frozen when he wasn’t needed and then bought him out like an especially destructive toy when he was. Steve was looking down, they were both sitting on a sofa, and while he spoke without emotion, like he was giving a report, his body couldn’t hide the rest. His hands were clenched in front of him, shoulders tight and he kept on frowning, the words pulling grimaces onto his lips. 

The brainwashing, the freezing. All of it was too much. Her heart ached for both of them, her anger erased and transformed into sorrow. She wanted to reach for Steves’ hand, hold it tight in hers. Stroke his cheek and lead his face to her neck, let him hide himself there for a little while and give him a chance to actually process it all instead of feeling like he had to be brave, strong, _Captain America_ constantly.

“He’s been under Hydra all that time?” Her voice was hoarse, rough sandpaper from her throat that scratched with each letter. She had those rings in her hand, holding the metal tight against her palm.

“Yeah.” He said, and for a moment it could have been her Steve answering. She looked at him, and he met her eyes and they were sharing the same feelings. His eyes weren’t a strangers’ anymore. They were from a man who loved Bucky like she did, who felt each of those atrocities Hydra had committed, made him commit, like they were blows against his own skin. She wondered if this Steve had ever really had anyone to share it with before. Buckys’ loss, his death was a weight on both of them, and at least in her world she had a brief time of comfort. A small feeling of not being completely left alone. She felt a moment of sympathy, understanding, of the man in front of her. She knew what it felt like to be alone in another time without anyone you cared about standing next to you. Darcy had to look away, moved her head to look at her sleeve, blurring against her leg. She couldn’t get sucked into those eyes and the feeling there. 

“All those years?” She said this to herself, closed her eyes because she knew the answer. Understood that while she was stepping off a bridge into this world, Bucky was trapped, tortured, broken in his. She shook her head, stopped herself in time from leaning it against his, comforting like she would if he was someone else.

“I have to go back.” She said suddenly, almost to herself and Steve looked up confused. “I have to go back.” He seemed baffled, went to say something when Darcy stood up, staring at him, as if for help before remembering who he was. She turned to go, before catching herself and turning back.

“Thank you for telling me.” She said quietly, knew that in the same situation she would struggle to say those things to a relative stranger. Then she left, felt her whole body moved by a feeling she hadn’t felt in months. Hope, carrying her out of the door, heading towards the labs where Jane worked.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Jane. I have to go back, there has to be a way. Another portal, another chance.” She was down in Janes’ office in the labs, arrived there rapidly and out of breath. Jane had seen her, smiled widely on her return, barely had time to wrap her up in a hug before Darcy started speaking. Janes’ face had almost closed off at the words, sympathy, pain and resignation on it, this homecoming turning into another thing all together.

“Darcy there's no way.” Her voice was gentle, absolute but Darcy carried on, almost bargaining with her. 

“Buckys’ alive. He survived, he’s been kept by Hydra for all those years. I can save him, I can find him-“

“Darcy.” Jane cut her off, and there was no surprise there.

“Did you know too?” She asked, fear spiking through her. The extent that this was kept from her, Natasha, everyone, hiding _Buck_ y from her- 

“I only found out when he returned to the Tower last month. We didn’t have anyway to contact you and I assumed Natasha would tell you-“ Darcy calmed down at the words, cut her off at the spys’ name.

“It doesn’t matter. I have to go back Jane, don’t you see? He won’t have to be alone.” That last sentence was badly said, she knew the words weren’t right to get across what she meant. Because who did she mean by _he_? Bucky, or Steve? And did she really mean that _none of them_ would have to be alone. That there was a chance, however slim, that the three of them could be together again. Jane had that look on her face again, all emotion and Darcy was almost angry because she didn’t need pity, or sympathy from this brilliant woman, she needed a solution.

“He would probably kill you Darcy. You’ve seen what he’s done?” 

“What he was made to do.” Darcy corrected sharply and Jane nodded.

“What he was made to do. You don’t think that would happen to you if you went back. If this wasn’t the same problem as before. If there _was_ a way back.” Darcy swallowed at that, had to look at the ground, cling on to her sleeves because she felt like it was just the same argument over again.

“Jane.” Her name was said like a plea, small and she tried to pull the determination back. Darcy kept from looking at her eyes, so big and brown and full of feeling because the hope she had, shredded and torn, a piece of fabric in her hand, was starting to get picked up by the wind. Picked up and dragged away from her again. A hand moved forward, stilled hers’ from worrying at her sleeve and she tried not to accept what she meant.

“We both know that there’s no way. Theres no portal, we don’t have the technology. We don’t know why that one happened, or how.”  

“There has to be a reason. There has to be a way.” She clung to this, tried to explain that these things were never just random. “Now that I know Buckys' alive-“ She started and was stopped by a firm squeeze to her fingers.

“Darcy. That doesn’t change anything.” She shook her head, disagreed, felt her mouth screw up before spitting out words lowly and full of passion.

“It changes everything. It means I left both of them Jane. It means I left both of them behind.” How could she not see? That it made everything so, so much worse. That she couldn’t carry on here when she had abandoned both of them. Given up hope and chased fantasy, quick relief instead of just staying put and believing their promises. Trying to live 70 more years in the chance that she could see them again. Darcy begged her with her eyes to fix things. To make it so she didn’t have to feel the weight of leaving not one, but two of them behind. Jane gripped her hand tighter, almost painfully and led her to a chair. Darcy could feel her face crumbling, didn’t want to accept it.

“It doesn’t change the science.” Jane replied softly. In that moment, Darcy had never hated anything more than Science. She didn’t want to be dependent on such a cold, logical thing. She wanted the world to move with this information, to rip apart and shake and change until it was fixed. How could this universe remain so calm? So controlled by everything else when this news had changed the fabric of her? Spread large colours and sounds into her head that somehow only remained there, and didn’t spill over and affect everything else. Darcy couldn’t bear that this final chance was going to be destroyed again, by reality.

“It has to. It has to Jane. Please.” The lab was still, empty except just those two and Darcy was asking her, desperately, to save her. Jane spoke again, voice low, and sincere. 

“I looked every day you were missing. Every day you were away and since you came back. It’s not possible.” The words were like waves, the tide coming in and kissing her feet, her legs, her body until they eventually went over her head and swallowed her whole. “We don't have the knowledge to open a portal, let alone control when or where it goes. If you gave me twenty years and billions of dollars the most I could do would be move you in space. But time- I can’t Darcy, and I’m so sorry.” And that noise, the one that sounded like a sob, was her hope being crushed slowly down, a tin can under a heavy boot. She was reliving it all over again. Every second of her return, except this time it was Bucky too. His body, alive and moving with another force and she couldn’t help the grief crashing into her all over again. Like she had never really been better in the first place. 

Darcy hated herself for coming back then, had that feeling constantly, but now it spiked, peaked and gripped her body like a giant fist. Jane was in front of her, tears in her own eyes and Darcy knew the cause of the moisture was her.

”It’s not your fault.” She said as firmly as she could, needed Jane to know that she never resented her for not doing the impossible. It was her mistake that bought her here, not Janes' fault that she couldn’t send her back. Jane seemed to crumble a bit at that, had to wipe away her tears with a ragged tissue before looking back at her.

“It’s not yours either.” She said gently, pushing her forehead against Darcys’. She closed her eyes and heard the words, but didn’t think she could ever believe them. They stayed like that for a minute, Darcy not really being comforted, just kept from having to process the last hour of her life.

“Bucky,” Jane said softly, and Darcy pulled back to look at her in confusion. “Even a Bucky that doesn’t know you, isn’t that something?” She understood what she was saying, fought with the mixed emotions she bought up. The implication that Bucky was _here_ , in the tower, and maybe in the world she left behind he wouldn’t be, he might not have survived at all. That before, knowing Bucky was alive here, and not there, might have given her endless joy. Might have soothed her, could have still driven her here if Steve had never existed, but he had and she couldn’t deal with all the _possibilities_.

Was it better, if her Bucky had died, alone on the snow, body left to rot and decay in the mountains, or that he was kept, tortured, but still alive somewhere else? It was impossible, she couldn’t wrap her head around it in any way. Either way it almost didn’t matter, because this Bucky wasn’t hers at all. “You want to help Bucky?” Jane asked quietly. “Help _him_.” Darcy stared at her with anger. Had to disregard it, ignored the statement flat out, was offended by the idea that helping this stranger could do anything for either of them. She stood up, shook her head before turning and hugging Jane goodbye. “Darcy-“

“Don’t Jane, ok. I just need some time.” The lie was an easy one, and she hated that Natasha had let her walk into this trap all the more now.  Not just because of the pain, but because now she had to placate Jane, she didn’t have anyone she could be honest with, admit the destruction that the knowledge of Bucky being alive had caused. Instead she had to pretend not to be falling apart, put on a front to protect Jane and the others who watched her too closely. She gave her a small smile with an empty promise to catch up another time, practically forced Jane to go back to work, to give her some time alone, and headed towards the elevator. In there she stood, leant her head against the wall, so drained of everything as she desperately tried to cope.

 _Will it ever be ok?_ Darcy thought. Could all of her memories of them be erased, leave her fresh, empty and free like the two men here. Clean her of her guilt, and sadness and absolute disinterest in a world without them in it. It felt never ending, and she was so damn tired of feeling like she had to put herself back together again and again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“What are you doing?” Natalia asked. She was sitting in front of the computer, light from the screen making her face look pale and drawn. He should have really been asking her what she was doing. Bucky had snuck down in the night, broken in to the security floor, found a terminal to get the information he needed, only to see her at the one he wanted. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, but her hand was out, pointing a gun at him, and he knew better than to think she wouldn’t shoot. He chewed the words over in his mouth, still unused to talking much, let alone honestly with someone who could use the information dangerously. He tried a question instead of an answer.

“That woman. Who was she?” He watched her face carefully, the profile of it all that was visible and not enough to go on. She would obviously know who he was talking about, doubted anyone in the tower got coffee without her knowing. The silence continued, and Bucky would have been happy to wait it out, let it stretch thin and dry until words were the only thing that could quench it, but Natalia knew this game, was somehow even more patient than he was. “She thought she knew me.” He said gruffly, and they could have been speaking in russian, but that language only formed violent words on his lips, drew back parts of him he wanted left sleeping. Natalia finally turned to him, eyes pulled away from the screen to read his face instead.

“So?” She said, and then suddenly intent. “Do you know her?” The words sent a chill down his spine, a moment of doubt into his mind before he calmed himself. Pushed the anxiety aside that said he couldn’t really trust his memories anymore, and answered what he knew was true-

“No.” There was a flash of something on her face, frustration or disappointment, and then she spoke again.

“You’re sure?” She fixed him with those eyes, and for a second he thought that maybe she might know the inside of his head better than he did. Maybe she could tell things he couldn’t, so he answered her, waited for her response because if she didn’t believe him, maybe he shouldn’t either.

“I’m sure.” He said again, and Natalia watched him for a moment before her mouth tightened minutely and she looked away. It was then, gun still raised and pointed at him, that he fully realised her state. She looked _rough_. Maybe another time, if they didn’t have the past they did, a hotwire to the worst sides of themselves, he would have asked her what was wrong. What she had just seen on the screen that made her careful composure slip and slide, until it melted off her face and left a poor imitation of indifference. But that time was long gone, and all he did now was wait. Wait until she asked the question he didn’t know if he could answer.

“Then why are you interested?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s all up from here guys (not really, but at least not as dark from here on out). The reason the chapters’ so long is that I didn’t want to end it on such an awful depressing note with Darcy and I also wanted to show that Nat hadn’t turned into a heartless bitch.  
> Next Time: Darcy talks to Bucky, shouts at Natasha and more of our favourite super soldiers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was soooooo difficult. I was trying to think about how it would feel, having someone who essentially is the person you loved and lost around you all the time. It’s a tricky one, because I wanted them to actually interact, but I think my reaction in that situation would just be to run away and start over somewhere else out of self preservation. But then at the same time, if you had the chance to even see them again, wouldn’t it be too difficult to abandon?
> 
> Anyway, here it is, the response I’ve gotten from you guys is insane, and I’m ridiculously grateful for it <3

* * *

 

 

 

“Then why are you interested?”

Natalia asked, and Bucky was trying to work out that answer himself, let alone vocalise it. He thought back to seeing her in the kitchen, the woman walking in like something out of a dream. She was a heady mix of curves, hair and red lips but at the same time obviously trained, standing with care and attention. He wondered if it was what people would see, if they didn’t know his history, all the atrocities, when they saw him. Someone from another time wrapped up in a dangerous skin. Then she had looked at him, held him in her eyes with so much devotion, he didn’t know how to take it. He hadn’t been looked like that, maybe _ever_ in his life. Certainly not since Hydra, or the war, or since he stopped chasing dames and started fighting like he was born to do it. 

She looked at him like he was a gift, a promise, like he could save her. Like he was exactly what she needed, something she’d prayed for come to earth, and it affected him. It cut through the controlled, careful filter he’d put between himself and the world since he’d come out of Hydra. Her eyes had been so big, pools of blue so wide and welcoming, and for a moment he wanted to be the man she saw in them. Be the person she had seen then, someone worth the all consuming, complete and total _love_ she gave out so freely.

Then she had seemed to come out it, her eyes fading, returned from another world, and the loss of love from them was an icy shadow, robbing him of warmth and freezing him all over again. She had left with Steve, Steve who he struggled with, who expected the man he was, not the one he was now, and it had been so long since he felt something but the endless trudge of having to carry on.

Bucky knew he had to find out more about her. What it was that made her look at him like a solution, instead of the dangerous problem everyone else saw.

“I want to know why she thought she knew me.” He said and those green eyes flickered like a candle, a slight betrayal that made him even more curious. Sam, if he had heard about this, and in a whole other world, might have been proud of Bucky for asking what he needed. 

Natalia, very slowly, lowered the gun. Her eyes left his, lit up as the screen reflected in them, face drawn again for a second. An old, old part of him wanted to chastise her. Shout at her, beat her, tell her off for being so stupid as to let him see her weakness so clearly.

“It’s on there.” She said, and stood up, walked by him, their bodies avoiding each other like a well practised dance move. Then she spun suddenly, and he moved quickly too, but not fast enough and a gun was pressed to the back of his head. “You hurt her and I’ll kill you.” Certainty strung the words together, and Bucky had to fight against his instincts, the rapid drum of danger that beat in his head and told him to eliminate her, or more likely die trying. There were long drawn out seconds, testing both of their self control. Then the gun, and she went, and he was left with a screen that said a name in bright lights. 

Darcy Lewis.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Get up.” Darcy ignored Barton, continued staring at the screen, eating ice cream out the tub with the sturdiest cookies she could find. “Get up Darcy we’re training.” He said, blocking dog cops from her view, and she didn’t even complain. Just reached for another pack of cookies. He sighed, crossed his arms, and she thought wildly for a second that that was probably the look he used to discipline his kids. “You can’t stay in this room forever.” He said, and the piles of food around her, ability to order more, and the sweet sweet miracle of Netflix begged to differ. She finally looked up at him, opened her mouth to say -

“Fuck off Barton.” His jaw twitched, and she kept eye contact, scooped another lump of ice cream, and ate it.

“You’ve been in here for a week. A whole week in this apartment.” Darcy shrugged, was starting to get tired of the conversation. “People are worried about you. Me, Tony, Jane and Thor. Nat-“ 

“Fuck her. She didn’t even warn me.” She was suddenly active, energy running through her like a current. Clints’ face changed, softened and he spoke quietly.

“She had her reasons Darce.” 

“What were they? Because she hasn’t been here to explain them.” He looked away at that, didn’t say anything and Darcy waited, wanted an answer but he just redirected.

“So this is it? You just give up because she’s not here to hold your hand with training?” She shook her head at him in disbelief.

“More like cut it off when I’m not looking.” She replied around a mouthful of food and Clint sighed, sat down next to her on the sofa. Slung an arm around her that she waited a second before curling into. His arm was warm, always ridiculously built and she pushed aside all the comparisons that caught her up.

Darcy had buried all the thoughts of Bucky, and Steve, all of the grief and pain, until she couldn’t see them anymore. She had stepped on the information, pages and pages of it, pushed it into a file in her mind, flattened it so she could get the lid on and leave it be. It was the sort of thing, that if she stared at it too long, she would never be able to look away. She had never had many regrets in life, and this one she couldn’t process.

Instead she had drawn on the anger at Natasha, fed off of it like a spring and it had given her energy she didn’t have before. _See_ , she thought numbly, _maybe all you needed the first time round was someone to betray you_.

“What are you gonna do now? Go back to an office job? After all your training?” His voice was low, faux-casual and once again, she was unsurprised his work let him work _far away_ from the targets. Subtlety was not one of his strong points.

“I don’t know.”

“Well sitting here isn’t going to help is it?” 

“It might.” She replied, and he turned to her with a frown.

“How?” Her eyes were big as she said deadpanned -

“I might choke on one of these cookies and then I won’t have to deal with it all.” He blinked for a second, trying to work her out.

“I’ve seen you swallow much bigger things.” And then she did choke, let out a surprised laugh. He started talking, almost spluttering. “I meant poptarts. Whole poptarts.” He said, and then paused. “Although…” Darcy threw a pillow at him, laughed a bit harder and it was relief to feel something else for a while. “Come and train.” He said gently, looking at her with fond eyes. “It’ll be just us in the gym and it’ll help.”  She looked at the screen, feeling her mouth pull to the side, let her hand grip the cookie instead of those useless rings.

“What’s the point?” She asked, and this time she wasn’t joking. It wasn’t some grumpy, snide question, it was genuine. It was actually desire for him to give her a reason to continue. She had let a little bit of what she was burying come to the surface, and Clints’ face changed, seemed to age in a moment. Although he had a hundred different answers to why they should go work out, he clearly understood what she was actually asking. Knew that he couldn’t give her a solid answer, and that, _that_ was another reason she hated Natasha, because she would always have one. Pulling himself together he stood up, turned and grabbed her hand to help her up. He hit her with a smile that was only a little bit forced.

“Jees, Darcy do I have to come up with all the answers?” Darcy let herself stand next to him before leaning forward and hugging him quickly, trying to wipe the worried, ragged look from his face. She hid her own in his neck, tried to school it into some approximation of the Darcy he knew before, the one who was carefree, unburdened by regret. She pulled back and gave him a small smile.

“No, you don’t. Let’s go train.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You didn’t tell me about Darcy.” They had just come back from a morning run, went back to their shared apartment to shower and change. Bucky had cornered Steve, grabbing some water, and put the question to him.

“Miss Lewis? I thought it would confuse you.”  Steve said, and there was already a flush on his cheeks, from Bucky speaking, or just from the line of questioning he wasn’t sure. _Yeah,_ Bucky thought, _because some dame looking at me like christ resurrected wasn’t gonna do that._

“She knew us Steve.” He said, tried to stress it, and Steve looked away then, seemed exasperated.

“No Buck, this is why - she didn’t.” He paused, looked like he had just received confirmation of his worst fears. “She knew people who looked like us. I didn’t want your memories getting all messed up. Her confusin’ you with all that talk.” Steve was so genuine, and Bucky understood the urge to protect someone from harm. Had spent their childhood doing just that for the guy, at least from what he gleaned from the books and small conversations he could manage. But he had been kept in the dark for too long already, and this form of protection, felt an awful lot like being lied to.

“You don’t think that’s my decision to make?” He said simply, and Steve looked up at him, face like a puppy, kicked and shouted at.

“Bucky.” He said, and once, his name said like that would have moved him. But that was a long, half remembered time ago, and now all it did was piss him off. He hated feeling like he was the guilty one, that he was doing wrong by calling him out on his behaviour. That he was unreasonable for wanting to be kept in the loop. Steve, as much as he tried to understand what had happened to him, was in his own way keeping him back. Protecting him from a world he’s lived in for far too long. Bucky shook his head, didn’t like arguing with Steve at the best of times and so left, took a shower to wash the run off.

He had watched the video of her return. Her seeing Steve and the absolute wreckage that became.  It was terrifying, he couldn’t imagine how it would feel, as if when he finally remembered Steve, he got the same blank look in return. He felt isolated enough as it was by his past, at least he didn’t have everyone else telling him it hadn’t happened. Not any more, anyway. She had seen Steve again, all of these meeting captured by Howards’ son on a screen, and it felt like an invasion of privacy, especially when her face was like spring water, completely transparent to any emotion passing through. He watched Steve try and help her up, the pain that caused her, and her subsequent run to Natalia, to training and a whole other life.

Then she had come back from that and met him, although maybe that wasn’t the right word. Seen him for the first time, but even that left something lacking. She had looked at him like she had looked at Steve. The same eyes, that same emotion, and it confused him. He read the reports of when she first returned, ones from Natalia and others, and only Steve was ever mentioned as being anything more than a friend. In fact, the lack of his name during questioning was what had raised suspicions. Had made Natalia flag her file for his presence, kept her in the dark so when she returned, she was unprepared.

Darcy had to have known him, loved him even, because that look was not meant for a friend. She had coped with seeing him, even though it was a shock she was unprepared for. She was amazingly strong, and he was in awe of her resilience. Didn’t know if he could be as stable in the same place. Yes she had broken down, yes she had been destroyed. But she came back, again and again. Didn’t want to give up on those two men, and it made him feel almost guilty. Like he was stealing this girl from someone else. Of another version of him, untainted by what Hydra did, clean hands and heart and worthy of that sort of love.

Someone worth risking her life for. That she would still seek that Dr, the physicist, beg her for help to try and travel to whole other _universe_. It was like something out of those old sci-fi books he read as a kid. Some crazy, imagined thing and it didn’t seem fair it was actually happening to that girl in real life. He didn’t understand Steve. How the man could be so separate, see that emotion directed at him and not even be a bit curious? Now that he knew the truth, the story, he wanted to know more, wanted to talk to the woman who had known, loved them both in another world. Wanted to see if she could look at him and see anything familiar at all, or if whatever lay there was just made by Hydra.

He was back in his room, had changed quickly, avoiding the mirror and tying back his hair. He headed back to the living room, saw Steve sitting, head in his hands and lost in thought. Bucky felt guilty, but also defiant. He needed to be treated like a person, not like a thing, and at the moment, Steve wasn’t getting it. He had forgiven him quickly, could never really stay mad at him, but it still stung.  Before he might have had the words to say, to explain it all, but not anymore. They were stuck to the inside of his head, not even able for him to grasp in abstract. Messy, sticky ideas that would come out garbled and stuck. So he left it, Steve lifting his head as he came and sat next to him, letting their thighs brush and he sunk down. He ignored the searching look, instead reached for the tv remote and put on some shit. Stared numbly at the screen until he felt Steve relax next to him. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The training had done her good, a few hours of practice drawing her back into a familiar rhythm she lost herself to. She hadn’t been happier necessarily, but it gave her a mindset. Gave her a focus for a short time, and she decided to sign up temporarily in the operations team. They were happy to take her, let her use her now extensive knowledge of Hydra and fieldwork to help them find and plan missions. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a distraction. She had seen Jane again, apologised, not that the physicist even thought it was necessary. They had caught up briefly, Darcy filing a bit in the lab while they talked, sending her back into some reminiscing that was only laced with happiness. She left her there, promises of a night together, drinking and food and films, before she headed to the lift and waited. 

She was lost in her thoughts, somewhat happily, had abandoned the habit of taking out her phone every five minutes when it was lost in the past. So when the door opened, she didn’t even have the excuse of looking at her phone when she saw who was standing there.

The spy was leaning in the corner, dressed in tac gear, and just a week ago Darcy would be thrilled. Would be so happy to see her. Not now.

Darcy blinked, once, twice, looked past her and walked into the lift, pressing the button to the common floor. She couldn’t look at the spy, was angry, so furious at the situation, the fact the she had _known_ Bucky was back and hadn’t said a god-damn word, that she couldn’t speak. That lasted for a second, and then she rounded on the redhead, had to control her arms because for the first time in her life she felt ready to hit someone in anger.

“You knew? You knew that was who Steve was chasing? You knew Bucky was alive all this time?” Her voice was low, and Natasha had turned to look at her, with a blank, almost bored expression on her face that made the dogs in Darcys’ head snap and bay for blood.

“I wasn’t given permission to say.” She replied and Darcys’ hand actually spasmed. It was a half reach towards her, frustration closing her fist and knowledge telling it exactly where to hit before she stopped them herself. She lowered it, let out a low breath.

“You knew what he meant to me?” She asked again, and she could have sworn she saw Natasha swallow.

“You never said.” She replied and Darcy lost all composure.

“Shut the fuck up Nat. Shut up. We both know you’re smarter than that.” She was shouting, had to turn away from the woman because she wanted some other reaction than emotionless _logic_. Nat was giving her nothing, was just standing there like a sponge, absorbing everything she gave out and it was infuriating. Darcy didn’t want cold, indifferent acceptance, someone standing there just taking her anger. She needed something to fight against, some show of emotion she could grip to and push, bounce off of it and release this consuming inferno that kept her going. “You couldn’t have warned me?” 

“They needed to see your reaction.” The answer came from behind her and Darcy had to squeeze her eyes shut, burnt at the fact that the extra pain was for no other reason than _distrust_. That whoever had been monitoring her, some leftover of Shield or whoever else, they needed to watch her breakdown again, to know that she wasn’t some plant sent in to ruin both of the men. Confirmation that the only emotional distress she would be causing was her own.

“And you? Did you too?” She asked finally, turning round to watch the spy’s face, and this time Natasha could only meet her eye for a second before she had to look at the wall. The silence went on for so long Darcy wondered if she was going to answer at all, and when she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, sounding younger than her years.

“No. I knew what it would be.” The door opened on the labs, and Darcy couldn’t move out of them. She was stuck, standing opposite a person she considered her friend, the person who had helped her, maybe even saved her over the year and then just handed her over to something they both knew would cripple her.

“Thats it?” Darcy asked, foolishly hoping for more from her. Some words that could make it better, could change what she did. Even an apology, or an admittance of guilt but all she got was this dry, blank useless thing that gave her nothing worth caring for. That really was it. 

There were angry tears filling her view, and Darcy hated this woman she trusted for making her feel so _used_. The doors began to close, and Darcy jabbed the button, breathing hard, before lifting and placing her foot outside of that box. Her feet were sharp stabs, piercing the floor as she walked, ignored the sound of the lift closing. She marched on, head full of a thousand thoughts as she headed toward the common area.

But that anger was wiped away, brushed off to the floor like breadcrumbs when she walked into the kitchen to find Bucky standing there. She stopped, trainers skidding slightly, and she almost clung to the wall, hands splayed against the surface as she watched him.

This time, she allowed herself to really, really look at him. Not see the man she knew, see a ghost standing there, but look on Bucky as he was, alive and in front of her. It was maybe the hardest thing she’d ever done, completely filled her mind and body. It felt like a balloon had been blown up under her skin, pushing it out, the pressure so extreme there wasn’t room to take another breath in.  _Maybe Jane’s right_ , she thought. But looking at him didn’t seem to be helping her at all. It just made her homesick, flushed, as well as settling something in her chest, and she was staring at him like babies stare at strangers’ faces. Open, and obsessive, completely without shame. Fascinated by this familiar-unfamiliar person.

The thing was, the thing she had realised, was that she either had to adapt, or she had to leave. There was no in between. Darcy had to see if she was capable of living with these two men, working around them, undoubtedly seeing them unexpectedly. Otherwise her life was just being kept in this cage, depression crowding her in and fear of her own feelings trapping her there. She had to face them, despite Steves' wishes, with him in front of her it was a good test. A test of strength, some medieval challenge to see how much punishment she could take before breaking.

Her gaze must have brushed his skin, tickled the hairs on the back of his neck, because his head turned. He looked up and Darcy felt hot suddenly. Was embarrassed by the misplaced emotion on her face, had the warnings of Steve in her head and was so aware of disturbing Bucky. She looked away from those eyes, the ones that sought hers and started to back out the room. Knew that they had never been formally introduced, but that he would know her none the less.

“D’ya know how to work this thing?” His voice was rough, just a hint of Brooklyn and it scratched an itch inside her she hadn’t known was there. It was so close to what she knew, what she woke up hearing, felt whispered in her ear a thousand times, but not quite the same. It was laced with a whole other history that stopped her thoughts, made her focus on the words instead of who was saying them.

And he was pointing to the machine, flesh hand out, but it was the metal one that caught her eye. Holding a mug, silver fingers wrapped round it and she was _comforted_ by it, even as it jarred. She clung to that arm, let the shiny object block everything else out. It was a perfect, exactly what she needed to pull herself away from the Bucky she knew, and answer the one here. 

“Yeah.” She said softly, felt afraid but almost excited at the same time. Craved feeling something other than anger, or worse _nothing_. Was almost proud of the way each second dragged by and she still didn’t break.

“Show me?” He asked, and she wondered why he was asking. What would he get from starting this conversation with her? Didn’t he know who she was? The imagined history she saw whenever she looked at him? Bucky didn’t seem to care, was just looking at her expectantly. Like this was a normal conversation. Like her reaction to him was completely standard, and not an instinctive, dangerous thing. 

It was the differences that allowed Darcy to stay that day. All the ways he wasn’t _her Bucky_. If he had been exactly the same, a copy-paste of the man she couldn’t have coped with it. But he wasn’t, he was unlike anything she had ever known. So instead of drawing away, hiding herself for self-preservation, she walked closer silently. Showed him how to work the machine, even if she knew a flimsy excuse when she heard one.

It was one of Starks’, overly complicated and flashy, and they stood in comfortable silence as she pressed buttons, turned knobs. Looking at the counter, the open drawers, anything but each other. The air, hanging between them, that was a novelty. Her Bucky would always fill it, cram it full of things he wanted to tell her, things he’d seen or done. Let no space stay unfilled, not when he had so many tales of Stevie, or nonsense to make her smile, on the tip of his tongue.

The machine dinged, and Darcy dragged herself away from the warm fire of memories. Liquid ran into the mug, and she watched it flow, hands moving automatically as she reached for creamer. Darcy loved and hated how when she turned away from him, she was completely aware of his presence. Could feel his cells as an extension of her body, craved and feared the feeling evaporating. She turned back to him, hands slightly shaky, before reaching over for the sugar jar. A hand stopped her, cold metal where it should have been warm and she looked up to him in surprise.

“No sugar, can’t stand it.” He said, and she had to stop herself staring at him in wonder. Was obscenely grateful for this small reminder that he came from a different world. But was also crushed, because these differences meant she couldn’t forget.

“Thank you.” He said simply, ducking his head as he drew the cup into his hands. No - Cheers doll, or Thanks Darce. No kiss pressed to her temple, arm round her shoulder. Just thank you, and that suddenly made the skin he shared seem a little bit more unfamiliar. Oddly this was a good thing. It made him seem alien, like an actor inhabiting a role and it stopped her getting too relaxed and letting all her stupid feeling pour out. It was manageable, maybe she could desensitise herself, collect up all their differences, hoard them, cultivate them until one day she could let her eyes brush their skin and not be overwhelmed. 

This was her hope, bloomed again, a small fragile flower, so used to being crushed, and she clung to it tight as she nodded to the man. Tried to decide if it was worth the risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do tell me what you think, I always want to linger in the terrible, sad emotions but I’m trying to get the pace up a bit so theres actually plot and other nonsense :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The intention was there to make this a lighter one I swear, it just didn’t pan out in the end. I’m hoping I’ll be able to do some lighter ones before the end of this, but if it’s any consolation all of the angst has a purpose, it’s not just for shits and giggles :D  
> The comments are so amazing, you guys are the best :3

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Bucky had this habit, this way of standing where he didn’t seem to move at all. It seemed relaxing to him, to be completely still, a statue watching the room before single parts of him moved independently - his hand, his head, his legs to walk. It puzzled Darcy, made her intrigued, and so she catalogued it along with the rest of him, learning this Bucky one fact at a time. The food he liked, his laugh- a huff of breath through his nose, everything that separated him. She just about stopped herself making a colour coded folded, labelled red and blue, pages of information on the differences in case she ever needed a solid reminder, lists of truth to tame her heart.

The habits were irresistible. They were scarves and hats, shiny pins and fantastic patterns. Things she let hide the man beneath. They drew her eye away from the bones of him, his skeleton, which remained too like someone else. His nature, which was so familiar, his reactions different but still grown from the same soil, and this was why she focussed on the superficial. Clung to the flashy, easy things because looking any deeper would only cause trouble. She had picked up these things over a couple of weeks, a few hours here and there, steadily more as she learnt to adjust. 

Baking together, in silence. Watching tv, in silence. Even one memorable day when they polished guns together in the living room. They did speak, but on broad subjects, wide open things and it was all small talk, dead space and quickly died off. Never boring really, it was just unnecessary for them both to force conversation when the empty air sounded sweeter. It was hard to say what he got out of it - peace maybe. Or stress free company he couldn’t ask for. As for Darcy, she was just trying to move on, collect herself up and adjust to this new situation.

 _How does he know,_ she thought, _that if he spoke too much, told me the things in his head, I might get dragged under?_   That with a few words, the similarities between them could become concrete, undoable glue so thick and strong that she could never separate the two versions in her head. He was so intuitive, even seemed to sense when the line between the two became blurred and drew back, disappeared and let her put him back in a box in her mind. 

This time helped. She had never known a Bucky in the 21st century, so seeing him here, modern clothes, modern things, a fucking stark phone in his pocket, it put up another barrier. Made either then, or now seem like a surreal dream. She was ok with that, truly, but it also opened up a whole world of questions that Darcy had to shut a door on. Because she had dreamt about this for years, told stories to her boys about the time she came from, watched as Buckys’ eyes lit up at the technology. So seeing it now, watching him live in a place that she had wanted to share with them for so long, she had to stop herself wondering how her Bucky would’ve reacted. If he would’ve struggled with the coffee machine, if he would’ve dressed the same, been a massive hipster, stuck in the past. If he would have hated the arm, that beautiful, amazing piece of destruction, like this Bucky did.

There were so many things she thought he’d love, music, shows, places that Bucky would go mad for. He would get wrapped up in them, look at her with wonder and joy, be grateful to her for showing him something to get excited about. She’d gotten close once, they were sitting in the main room, watching TV, and a song came on over an advert. It was a 40s song, and the second it started it sent Darcy straight back to the war, to listening to the radio in camp, crowding round it, wanting Steve and Bucky to come home so she could finally dance with them. That longing filled her body, and though the song was happy, sparkly and light, it always made her think of sadder things. It was robbery, that all of her good memories were always tinged by such a tragic end. 

The song ended, a car driving in the distance on the tv, the relevance of the song to car sales completely lost on her, and Darcy discreetly wiped away a tear, turned in time to see Bucky, looking poleaxed.

“Haven’t heard that one in a long time.” He said quietly, an almost dazed look on his face, and she wanted to ask him what it made him think of, but then he shook his head. Seemed to fling away the bad thoughts, because this smile, a small happy thing grew on his lips and her heart jumped. “Didn’t think I’d hear stuff like that again.” And he was wistful. Lost in thought, in time, and she wondered at him, thought he would know that you could google most things, that no song really disappeared anymore. Darcy got the sudden urge to jump up, to run to her room, find her iPod, bring it here and drop it in his arms. Let him scroll down the list, all those that she’d collected but left unplayed, and watch that look grow bigger and bigger until it appeared on her own face. Wondered if she could remember the happy parts just by seeing a fun house mirror of them, twisted and misshapen, in his eyes.

But it wasn’t meant for him. That whole playlist, the one she’d left without a name, was really meant for her Steve and Bucky. She had been collecting those songs, even after she knew she was back in the wrong world. Even after she knew there was no hope, it had become a habit, instinctive. Hundreds of pieces of music she’d first heard with them by her side. A whole other time, memorialised in notes, and if she gave those songs over, ones they would love, it was giving up something. Hope or love or affection. It felt like betraying the men she had known first, so instead of doing it, sharing it, she was selfish, painfully selfish, and kept it all for herself. Those songs were for _her boys_. This Steve and Bucky, they would have their own memories attached to the words and she didn’t want to hear them. Couldn’t stand to be erased again, and so instead she spoke, fighting with herself.

“You can find most stuff online now.” She said, looked down at her hands to hide the look in her eye.

“Yeah?” he asked, like he was asking something more, and Darcy stayed looking away from him. Gave a hum in confirmation and turned the channel over to something else. That was the beginning and the end of Darcy showing him this world. She didn’t comment when he stumbled on things himself, found shows she already knew he’d like. Instead she just listened to his very few sentences, didn’t add to his list or give him suggestions he’d love, just let him talk. Let him find the way through the wild woods of modern pop culture and was content to just sit back, watch the path he made.

She was slowly desensitising herself, had learnt to look at Bucky, or pass Steve in the corridor and keep her heart in her body. Stop the need to throw herself at them, cling on and not let go. It was a slow thing, but it was happening. She was proud, pleased, content that this could be her life. One step at a time, a _day_ at a time, that really was the most she could manage and it was working. So when there was a call to assemble, the team disappearing in a whirl wind, Steve, Sam and Clint off to fight some big bad, Darcy calmly signed herself off of duty at work. Informed them that she would not be available to assist in an operations team here if they needed back up. She wouldn’t be able to handle it, knew this like the taste of tears on her lips, and so went and listened to music too loud, drunk some wine and steadfastly ignored the news, tv and internet for half a day. 

It worked beautifully. Distraction was something she’d become adept at, and so when she emerged, later, having received a thoughtful text from Jane that it was all over, they were coming home in one piece, she was surprised to see Bucky still sitting in the living room facing a turned-off tv. There was a pang of guilt, regret that she hadn’t thought to check on him, had been too worried about herself, her own reactions to be able to see his up close. In truth, she had been afraid he might have asked her to stay and watch it with him, and that would be too far. That sort of sharing, both of their worry on the same level even though she had no right to it, would have been too much like sitting beside someone else.

“Bucky?” She asked, voice soft and the man wasn’t moving, stayed staring at the dark screen. Her hands itched to touch him, draw his cheek and head round to look at her but she stopped herself in time. He still hadn’t answered, so she very slowly crossed the room in his line of sight, palms open and bare, tried to understand what had happened to him. The live news coverage had stopped a half hour ago, Jane had let her know that much in case she wanted to watch tv, so for him to have been sitting there that long it must have been something awful. A chill passed up her spine, cold fingertips that lowered her into a crouch in front of him, made her speak again. “Is Steve OK?” 

 

 

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There had been a call to assemble, a small thing and Steve went out, dealt with the incident and headed home. Yes, there had been a hiccup. A moment where he didn’t do exactly what he should’ve. A situation that involved jumping off the side of an unreasonably tall building, with no parachute, not even asking Sam to give him a lift down, or Clint to cover him from the heavy fire and Doombots. It was a stupid decision, Steve realised it almost instantly, but he had landed and the fractures, his legs and foot, they healed quickly. The team overreacted, acted like he’d been trying to kill himself, didn’t understand what the serum had done to him like he did. He had been distracted during the fight, made a rash decision out of something - spite, anger, sorrow. Jumped without being sure of the consequence, because his mind had been kept away from the things it should be focussed on by Bucky and Miss Lewis.

He’d been watching the two of them grow closer, slowly over a few weeks. And most of the time they weren’t even talking, but they were so instantly comfortable in each others’ presence it made him feel like he’d missed a step. Like they could actually have known each other before, two bodies moving round each others’ space, silent, watching the other but not wary. It was painful to see that familiarity, how Bucky relaxed around her, seemed to unfold, let down a guard and uncrease his brow. All Steve could do was watch, and it _hurt._

Because Bucky wouldn’t talk to him really. Didn’t even seem to want to spend time with him, and how was he expected to deal with that? That Bucky would rather spend time with a stranger who knew someone like him, than a man he grew up with? And it wasn’t fair to Miss Lewis, but he didn’t know how to be when she was getting so much more out of the man than he was. He had let Bucky come back in his own time, tried to be patient, tried to restrain his urge to control everything he could, and instead it had just pushed them further apart. Had left all these strained silences, Bucky going to his room in favour of his company, and Steve expected absolutely nothing from him. Didn’t say or hint, or ask for more, but he was starting to wonder if his presence was the problem. If, as with Miss Lewis, he didn’t have to say anything to do damage.

Bucky couldn’t understand this about him, Steves’ thoughts inscrutable, mainly because the guy didn’t even ask. Didn’t ask why Steve could leave her be, not look in any files, or pry, or do anything really except let her live. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to know her, in fact, it was almost the opposite. He did, he wanted to ask her a thousand questions about the past, the Bucky there, all the memories of similar people she had. Their relationships, who she was to that Steve, that Bucky, how things worked out. He was full to the brim with curiosity, she, after all, was another person who’d come from that time, but knew that he would never get the answers from her.

Miss Lewis had made it clear she was angry with him. Either from his handling of the situation, or that he wore the face of the wrong man. It was obvious from their second meeting that the two of them would never get along. She still stiffened when he walked past, tucked her body under and he hated that his presence reduced her. Made her less, almost afraid, a small thing that couldn’t talk or speak and he knew it was the shadow of the man she saw. 

Steve didn’t like hurting people. Really, really hated it actually, forget Hydra and the war, on a personal one to one level, he couldn’t stand the thought that he was causing people harm. Miss Lewis - he couldn’t control the harm he caused there. It was out of his hands, his own body, his face and his voice constantly betrayed him, made him someone else to her and her pain was written in her eyes each time. She wanted him to react differently, wanted herself to react differently, and he didn’t know how it could be helped. So he stayed away from her, tried to give her as much control as he could, didn’t even look into the past she had with them because it felt disrespectful. Unbelievably too personal to read about other peoples assumptions on her relationships, and so he left her. Tried to warn Bucky off, not only because he thought it could be confusing for him, but because knew that it could be just as bad for her.

He had understood her pain almost instantly, seeing Bucky on the helicarrier had been the same damn thing. He really thought he was going to die then, wouldn’t fight Buck anymore, was desperate for him to remember something and that moment, that hopelessness, at least his had an end. At least now he got glimpses of the Bucky he once knew, those memories that he basked in, rightly or wrongly, because he loved that man and him coming back was more than he ever dreamed. So for Miss Lewis, how devastating would it be to see these two men, who could be twins of the ones she loved, walking and talking and living, when she knew she would never see hers again? Steve couldn’t think about it, just tried to do his bit to make the situation better and so when Bucky had started interacting with her, not really talking, just being around her, it went against everything he thought was right. Everything he had pieced together from that very first meeting.

When he had been called to the tower to meet her there had been no warning. No anything really, he just knew it was about the woman who went missing. Thors’ lightning sister. Darcy Lewis, who he’d heard stories about from Clint, Thor, Tony and who held a place in each of their hearts. Assistant to Dr.Foster, some light happy creature with a smile on her lips and always a funny word. Someone they all loved, wanted to protect and so when he had gone to meet her, it was without any idea it could be more than just a happy introduction. And then she had run at him, face lit up so intense and unbelievable, he himself was stunned, and her arms wrapped around him tight, as if they could stop his body moving just by will.

The reaction, his body freezing at unfamiliar arms around him, it was so instinctive. He had so many people throwing themselves at him, his personal space reduced to an imaginary thing, that he couldn’t control the discomfort he gave off. She had noticed quickly, removed herself, and her face was  _heartbroken_ , disbelief and confusion written so plainly, and it was only the start. Steve had thought it was a prank for a minute, thought it was some sort of stupid avengers initiation, but her pain was too consuming to be anything but reality. She broke down, looking at him desperately like he could fix it, and he’d never felt so helpless in his life. Had to leave, so wrapped up by Buckys’ death that the complete, bare _grief_ on her face only bought all of that to the surface. 

The friendship between the two of them, her and Bucky, he couldn’t understand. If she had that reaction to him, how could she stand it? Their relationship had been unclear in the file, no definition given to him, but her gaze on Bucky had been nothing less than the adoration she had first given to him. So them spending time together, it gave him handfuls of feelings- Jealousy, sadness, confusion because how could they bear to be around each other and not him? It could only be the way he reacted. With her - his leaving, how he didn’t even attempt to comfort her, had been scared of what more damage he could do. With Bucky - Clinging on too tight, trying his hardest to protect the man, shield him because he’d been through so much more than one man should already. And now they were spending time together, and he didn’t know what he wanted more, for the both of them to separate, or for there to somehow be a place for him next to them, between two people who couldn’t stand his company.

 

 

 

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Darcy waited by Buckys’ side, the two of them there in the common room kitchen, until the team returned. He had been quiet, non-verbal, unable to explain what had happened and Darcy had taken matters into her own hands. Called up the footage on her phone, watched it in the hallway and felt her anger matching the beat of her heart, this heavy, fast thing that pushed blood loudly into her ears. Steves' body, thrown willingly off the side of a building as if it was a game, he wasn't made of flesh and blood that had an expiry date. Darcy had stared at the screen until it went black, turned and faced the wall. Closed her eyes until she saw the same darkness and tried to push down everything that had just been churned up. The feeling was doubled, tripled by Buckys' own reaction. Because he wasn’t even shouting, he wasn’t reacting like she knew him too - pacing and griping, letting the steam out so he could simmer down. This Bucky was just broken, saddened, silenced by Steves’ selfishness and her protective streak was wide and all encompassing with this man. 

She got a grip of herself, contained it all and sat back down next to him, let the silence stay undisturbed because she really didn’t have anything to say about it. He needed her next to him, she wouldn’t leave him alone in that state, and it was unspoken that they would both be waiting for the return of that stupid, reckless man. She didn’t need to ask him what was wrong, why he was so upset, because she’d felt the way he had so many times. It was like disappointment, the feeling of having put your faith in something you shouldn’t have. Trusting someone to take care of themselves, of the love you poured into them, and being shown again why that was such a dangerous thing.

Steve walked in, still covered in blood, avoiding medical but with a limp that said he shouldn’t have. He was silent, seemed not to have noticed them hovering and he started grabbing food from the fridge, dishing it out and that was apparently all Bucky needed. Visual confirmation that he was ok, because the next second he was gone, disappeared, leaving Darcy to reign in her own feelings without a buffer. Steves’ head shot up, eyes followed Bucky with a crease on the brow before flitting back to her and sort of shuttering, looking away and all of a sudden she was storming over to him.

“What the fuck was that?” Darcy spat, and Steve looked up, eyes wide and surprised. He had half a sandwich in his hand and the other half in his mouth. He chewed quickly, those blue eyes too innocent, like he wasn’t covered in his own blood, limping, fresh from battle and completely insensitive to everyone else. Swallowing, he blinked and seemed to be digesting not just the food, but the words she had spoken.

“Excuse me ma’am?” He said quietly, and she her voice could be quiet too. Low and prickly, and filled with the sound of her blind fury.

“What the fuck was that? Jumping off the side of a fucking building?” Steve was backed up against a counter, a half sandwich up in defence, and she would have found it funny in another life.

“My job Miss Lewis.” And this Steve had sass, enough of it to make her mouth drop open, unwillingly drag her back to another time before it just got her blood back up.

“It’s your job, really? No parachute, no back up, no time to take the stairs, or a way that might not kill you?” His posture changed, almost straightening up, and he obviously didn’t like being told what to do, narrowed his eyes at her and said - “I’m fine.”

“You might not have been.” She said through gritted teeth, and it felt like double vision, like an argument she should have been having with someone else as she watched him almost roll his eyes in frustration.

“I would have.” He said firmly, turning away, completely dismissing her anger and that arrogance, his belief that he would always survive, it flipped a switch in her. Her hand came down on the counter, a hard slap and he turned back to look at her, almost humour on his face but her next words wiped that all away.

“No. Listen to me Steven. You are not immortal. One day you will die.  Are you really this selfish? You don’t give a shit about the people you’re leaving behind?” He was in shock, mouth dropped as if to speak but just frozen by the tone, the _everything_ she was giving out. It felt like something in her had come undone, whatever tape she had been using to hold herself together, and now she couldn't stop.

“You remember how it felt when Bucky fell? That pain. Losing everything in a second?” She watched the words sink in, saw him reliving it and couldn’t stop herself, needed him to see that he couldn’t treat people this way. “Now imagine if he had chosen to do it. If he risked himself over and over doing stupid shit, ignoring his team, and he most likely knew he’d get hurt. Thats’ what it’s like loving you Steve. Watching someone make reckless decision after reckless decision in the name of patriotism, or whatever the fuck else. And it’s not enough. It’s no comfort when you’re gone.” Darcy was pleading with him, begging him to understand that he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t just throw himself around, become a trial that his loved ones had to sit through every time he went to fight. Her eyes were flitting between the two of his, searching for answers and responses and something, and she was close to tears, had that awful stinging feeling on the edge of her eyes as she got the last words out.

“Making people love you- it comes with responsibility. Yes - it’s your choice to make those decisions. But we’re the ones who have to live with it in the end.” She felt out of breath, cut open by her own words and Steve was just watching her, silent and pale and she was waiting for him to say something. She waited for the words to come, the ones she needed to hear, for too long. Her heart was loud in her ears as she waited, miles of time stretched out, but the words never came. Because what she really wanted she realised too late. She wanted him to say - I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I should've trusted you when you told me about the future, told me that I got frozen. There could have been another way, a hundred other endings that didn’t involve me being so selfless, so selfish and leaving you in a time all alone.

It hit her in the face, a splash of cold water as she realised who she was really shouting at. A hand came up, grabbed those rings, and his eyes found them too, lit upon those two circles and she felt so ashamed that she had done it again. Not learnt, after all this time, to separate him from the person she knew. Her head twitched, and she felt the realisation dawn on her face, saw his own reaction to that, his hand coming up to reach for her and she had to back away in a quick step. Shake her head, try to apologise as much as she could without using words, because she didn’t trust herself or her voice anymore.

“Miss Lewis.” Steve started, and how was he this kind? Softening to her when she’d just lost her shit at him. She had to shake her head again, try and tell him not to poke at this wound. That his kindness, now, it would be too much for her to defend herself against. He showed sudden understanding, looked away and then back again, a mask on and she was so grateful. Because he was giving her something to hide behind too, a chance to pull herself together, to push aside the intimacy they’d just shared. He grabbed some things from the fridge, water, some leftovers that he had to pile high, steadfastly ignoring her gaze the whole time. “Goodnight.” He said softly, a second of someone else, before he walked off, all Captain America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna come back and correct this, because I wrote it like five minutes ago and I’m sure its’ riddled with mistakes. As always the response on this is absolutely fantastic. It’s makes me so happy that people are reading and liking this, and the head cannons you guys have for these guys are brilliant :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you guys wish - a small bit of necessary plot, and then *gasp* actual happiness and good feelings (only a little, I’m not insane). Also, the updates will probably be less frequent from now on, once a week maybe, but I’m still writing so don’t worry :P I meant to do a Bucky POV but the whole thing became a bit massive so hopefully next time.

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Her feet shifted, left and right, her hand raised to knock on the door but she couldn’t make it move. The whole rest of her was filled with movement and energy, but it was all dragging her backwards, pulling her away from the apartment and the men on the other side. Darcy was full of anxiety, palms tingling, sending shots up her wrist, and she was staring hard at the door, willing herself to get this over with. _Just do it._ She thought. _Just knock. Now_. Her hand stayed frozen, and  Darcy grit her teeth. _Now._ She thought again, that stupid lump stayed still and she wanted to scream at herself. She took in a breath, another and then counted in her head - _onetwothreefour_.

Her fist struck the door, two quick knocks that startled her, as if her body moved without her really thinking it through, and then it was opened. Steve stood there, looking awkward, which was fair because it was an awkward situation, and she wouldn’t be seeing him so soon if she didn’t have to. If there wasn’t this ball of shame and guilt heavy in her gut.

“Miss Lewis.” He said softly, and they hadn’t seen each other since she shouted at him. Lost her grip on who he was and said words for someone else. _What must he think of me?_ She had thought, curled up in her bed after that night. _Every time we meet I’m like an animal - running on instinct and emotion and not good sense._ She did a poor approximation of a smile, but Steves' face was already soft towards her, not defensive in the slightest, and she couldn’t understand how he could be so kind to her.

“Hi. Can I talk to you?” She asked, trying to project some sort of calm on the situation, having spent the last few days playing out the conversation she wanted to have in her mind. His eyebrows shot up then dropped, and he was ducking his head, moving aside as he answered.

“Yes. Yeah. ‘Course. Come in.” Darcy walked in, holding her sleeves in her hands, went over to the counter. Scanned the room and saw with relief and disappointment that Bucky wasn’t there. 

“Coffee?” Steve asked, and she shook her head, bit her lip before sitting down on one of the breakfast stools. Almost instantly regretted saying no, because at least then she’d having something to hold on to. He settled down opposite her, rested his arms on the table, set up stiffly like he was attending a debriefing. She picked at her sleeve, felt her mouth drop open and snap shut a few times as she tried to begin.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to apologise - The words were on her tongue from the moment she’d realised what she’d said. It was that she wanted to do it properly, treat him fairly, because so far she’d done a shitty job of it. He was just watching her, content to wait and she had to fight the sudden urge to run out the room before she started speaking - in starts, stops and rushes.

“I’m sorry. How I behaved. It was out of line, and rude and it’s not my place to say what I did.” 

“Miss Lewis it’s not-“

“No, it is my fault.” She said that firmly, met his eyes, needed him to know that was true, he couldn’t take away her guilt there. She pulled her hands apart, stopped picking at her sleeve but looked down again. “It’s just difficult sometimes.” She said quietly, thought that both of those words, difficult and sometimes, were understatements of a massive scale. “You’re so like him.” Her voice was a many layered thing, bitter, wistful, full of wonder, and her feelings would never be simple towards this man. He had been quiet, and she saw his head was ducked, a crease in his brow.

“M’sorry.“ Steve said quietly, seemed to really be apologising for it and she couldn’t help herself, she laughed, a bubble of surprise, and Darcy shook her head, a smile pulling her lips.

“You even apologise for things that aren’t your fault the same way.” Her voice wasn’t bitter this time, just wry and Steve laughed, ran a hand over his hair as his cheeks flushed. Silence fell, and this time it didn’t feel awkward.

“You were right. What y’said.” And this was a surprise, her Steve had never been good at admitting when he’d been reckless. “Guess I jump into things sometimes.” There was a twisted smile at this, self deprecating and she had to stop herself saying _really?_

“Is Bucky ok?” She asked lightly, had only gotten a few texts from him in the days since, the man somehow even less communicative in writing.

“Still mad at me.” He said, and this one she couldn’t let slip by.

“Not really surprising.” Darcy gave him a pointed look that he ducked his head on receiving. That silence came back again, and Darcy realised this might be the longest they talked for without her shouting at him. She was just trying to figure out a way to excuse herself, satisfied that for now she might have undone a bit of damage, when he spoke.

“I saw - I saw the rings. One’s ma’s, is the other one Buckys’ grans’?” Darcy froze, realised her traitor hand was at the necklace, felt caught out in something at his question. 

“Yeah.” Darcy replied, and he seemed to almost settle at it, like he’d been wanting to know the answer for a long time. She wondered if they still had this worlds’, if he wanted these in replacement, her hand tightened possessively around them, not knowing what to expect.

“You loved both of them.” He said, and this he was sure of, didn’t seem to need a response but she gave one anyway.

“Yes.”

“And they loved you. Musta done to give you those.” His voice was certain again, and she didn’t know how he could be. But maybe for him, those rings would mean the same. That if he still had his mothers’, he would save it and hoard it and only give that up when he was sure it was the end game. Those rings would say - This was it. No-one could come after that would mean more than the three of them meant to each other then. Whatever happened in the future, they would ride it out because the way they felt at that moment, metal changing hands, it was enough to carry them through the darkest parts of the rest of their lives.

This time Darcy couldn’t answer, just nodded her head, looked at the counter and not at the past, or the present it had led to. She was lost in her thoughts, so concentrated on _not thinking_ that his next words made her jump.

“Did you-“ He started, stopped himself and she could see the question itching to get out behind his firmly closed lips.  

“What?” She asked quietly, and he seemed to be warring with himself, something like regret that he’d started the question.

“The three of you.” He said before pausing, clearing his throat and maybe aiming for something light. “Didn’t you get jealous?” His hands were tracing the counter, body curled over, giving away the truth behind his faux-casual words. _Ah,_ she thought, and something slid into place. She suddenly saw her and Buckys’ relationship from his view, their closeness, his exclusion and felt stabbed. Wanted to tell him that it was insane to think that Bucky didn’t love him, didn’t care just because he was spending time with her. In fact, that was probably the reason he avoided Steve, maybe couldn’t stand the pressure, the fear of letting him down, loved him so much that he’d rather hide than break his heart with disappointment. Perversely, Bucky being someone else, someone different to the Bucky from the 40s, that was exactly why she spent time with him.

But that wouldn’t help, he wasn’t her Steve and she couldn’t be blunt with him that way, besides, it was Buckys’ job to say. She knew well enough that you could be told the truth a thousand times and only ever really hear it from one person. So instead she said something else.

“Yeah. I did get jealous actually, all the time.” Steve seemed surprised at that, and it was always funny to her that people thought polyamory worked because the people involved didn’t get jealous. Like they were some other type of person, not just a normal human who had the same reactions as everyone else.

“How d’ya deal with it?” He asked, and she tried to word her answer right.

“I had to change my thinking. Realise that each of us bought something different to the table. That what Steve got from Buck, he couldn’t get from me. But that what I gave to Bucky, he couldn’t get from Steve.” She frowned at herself, was annoyed at the explanation, was afraid it sounded like they had to be with each other and not like they wanted to. “There was crossover, obviously, but each of us added something that the others couldn’t. That was difficult, so difficult to wrap my head around. That just because you aren’t all that someone needs, it doesn’t mean they don’t _need_ _you_.” He was so intent, listening to her and she had forgotten what the weight of his attention could do to her. 

“It’s hard.” He admitted and she nodded.

“Yeah, it really is.” Hardest thing I’ve ever done, she wanted to say, and while it was true once it wasn’t anymore. “But it’s so, so worth it.” It had been, every second, every awkward conversation with the two of them. Prying out how they felt from behind those sealed doors. It had led to something incredible, something that was so much work but that never gave back anything other than brilliance. All that communication, all that love, sometimes she wished it hadn’t been that good. Wished for more hard days without happy endings, more arguments and fights, more _bad_. Because as it was, the good shone through so brightly it made life without them nothing less than plain, dull and endless. Made these two ghosts so compelling, so difficult to abandon completely and move on from. Made her chase these two foreign men in the chance of a glimpse of home. Steve coughed, shifted, morphed with a straightening of his shoulders into some form of Captain America.

“I wanted to apologise. For when we first met. I shoulda-“ 

“No. Steve.” She tried, but he continued, determined.

“Miss Lewis, I shoulda helped you, done somethin’-“ And she really couldn’t let him carry on.

“Steve. Really. You couldn’t have known. Who could’ve thought of it? It’s just fucking unfair. Your reaction, don’t feel bad for it ever. You couldn’t control that like I couldn’t control mine.” Expecting them to have behaved better was a useless task, and his apology was unfair when they were both running on instinct.

“M’sorry it happened to you.” 

“Not your fault Stevie.” She said quietly, not even noticing the nickname. _It’s not anyones’ fault really except mine_. The thought was sharp and she took in a breath beside the wound, tried to give him a smile. “And call me Darcy for chrissake’.” He gave her a smile back before ducking his head, a flush on his cheeks.

“Darcy.” 

He said her name softly, gentle with the word, holding fragile china in clumsy hands. Exactly like she had heard it a thousand times before from lips shaped the same, and it moved her. Gave her a long, hard wave of longing that she had to fight against. She looked down at her palms, frowning as her eyes watered, hated that even a small thing like this was a challenge that kept her breath from her.

“What can I do to help?” He asked quietly, his face, sad and beautiful and full of concern. She had his eyes for a second, and then they darted away, looked at other things. 

“What?” She replied, unsure what he meant, and he swallowed, smeared an imaginary stain from the counter.

“Do you need me to leave? Or warn you when I’m around?” Steve looked up then, earnest as he admitted -  “I hate, causin’ you trouble.”

Darcy didn’t know what to say to that. Thought ironically, that him asking was part of the problem. If only he wasn’t the way he was, kind and careful, wonderful and worried for her, then she could have forgotten. Maybe taken a normal path of grieving instead of this labyrinth. A face, after all, was just a face, but the way he was inside was the same. He was the softest parts of her Steve, the most vulnerable and gentle sides to him. So damn understanding, and she felt herself getting drawn into him, tiptoeing around the edge because he bought out feelings in her effortlessly and she wanted them kept inside. Every single time she saw him, even though so far it had nearly always caused her pain, it was growing something from the roots left behind, something she fought against, lashed out at him about, and it wouldn’t budge, was just fed by him and it would lead to no end but misery.

But maybe that was the problem. If he did do that, left or let her carry on running from him it wouldn’t get any better. She would keep on seeing him as this person, someone who was growing ever more mythical in her head - this sweet, earnest, kind man who didn’t have faults. She needed to see this Steve in reality, not a mix of the best traits of the man she knew and this endless understanding in a new situation. 

“I think avoiding you actually just makes it worse. Makes it more intense each time I see you.” This was almost the truth, and he nodded, seemed to get that if you faced the thing that terrified you enough, eventually it didn’t have such big teeth. Then, before she could stop herself an offer came out - “Would you like to hang out? Me and Bucky were gonna bake something.” His mouth opened to answer and then he shut it, fought with himself before replying to her, and she could see the concern before he voiced it.

“I don’t know if thats such a good idea.” And she nearly smiled at him, found it funny that even with her being the one offering, he might think he knew better than her.

“ _I’m_ asking _you_ Steve.” Darcy pointed and he flushed.

“No, I mean me and him, we’re not doi- he might not want to see me.” That made more sense, Steves stumbling answer, and she wondered if the two of them had talked about it at all.

“Well then, lets ask him.” She said, packaged the problem down into something simple, and was already standing up, walking down the hallway. Darcy passed a room, door open and empty, came upon another the door to, and knock tentatively. Hoped this was Buckys’ room and not a closet. There was a sort of grunt from inside, and she had a sudden thought that maybe this was what her Bucky was like as a teenager, before she swung the door open, saw the man sitting on the bed. His head was already up, hair pulled back in a bun and her heart jumped, like it always did when she saw his face.

“Bucky.” She started, was sure that he had hearing good enough to have heard the whole exchange anyway. “You mind if Steve joins us when we bake?” She’d suggested baking the night before, knew that however the meeting went she’d take comfort in his quiet presence. He watched her, and Darcy waited for him to speak. Knew that there was no point rushing him when that would lead to him saying nothing at all.

“Don’t mind.” He said finally and she relaxed minutely. Realised that despite all her fears, how it hurt to see the two of them together, she would always want it. She let a small, encouraging smile grow and nodded to him.

“Awesome.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She was standing in the common kitchen, the three of them by the counter, bowl and ingredients and everything they needed spread around. She’d tried to go to the end, to put Bucky between them, felt like this was meant to be helping the two of them but of course the boys had other plans. They stood either side, shuttering her like bookends and it had been so long since she’d had this feeling, her peripheral vision blocked by these two. Even now when they were virtual strangers, acquaintances at the most it didn’t make her feel unsafe. It was comforting, complete protection from two people she trusted naturally.

And maybe a week ago, a few days even she would have thought it’d be too much. She couldn’t have handled it, stirring up these feelings of _home_ and _safe_ , but in actuality it was fine, she coped and manage, due to one small oversight, one thing that had been carried over in this world.

How fucking annoying they could be.

Because they wouldn’t talk to each other, instead kept on asking her for the ingredients, each making their own batch of cupcakes, and Darcy was the go-between, the human buffer they pushed against to avoid interacting. They were like kids, sulking, unable to communicate properly and it bought its own strange tension. An ache in her shoulders, long moments of silence that just made the noise in her head louder. The voice that told her this was not only a stupid idea, but that she might end up shouting at Steve after all, if only to get some reaction out of them other than _this_.

And then Steve, with his hands like bear paws, broke an egg. Then another, and then a third which would have been ideal really if it had been anywhere near a bowl. He was trying to clean it up, grabbing towels to mop up the mess he’d made, smearing it on the counter and something in Darcy snapped. The tension that had been hanging over the three of them broke with her laugh, loud and covered by a hand. Both guys looked at her, she could feel their eyes, and then she snorted, because what else could she do but find it funny. Bucky spoke, under his breath but not really.

“Man can plan a rescue op but can’t even make a damn cake.” Darcy bit her lip to stop the smile, tilted her head to see Buckys' own and then looked the other way, at Steve glaring at them with raised eyebrows. She had a burst of mischief, a desire tease and so put on her most innocent face.

“Bucky said-“

“Heard what he said.” He replied shortly, voice grumpy and Buckys’ shoulders were shaking next to hers. Darcy gave in, saw him going for another pack and decided that if anything, they were going to run out soon.

“Let me.” She said, reaching for the egg that was cradled in his hand, and Steve glared at her for a half second before relenting. She cracked it, the sound clear and crunchy, emptying the egg into the bowl while wondering what would make him so nervous he couldn’t stop smashing delicate things.

“Thanks.” He said quietly, and she kept in her smile, carried on with her own mix, watched Bucky pour his into the cases she’d bought. By the time they were done, three sets of batter in the oven, the mess was pretty bad. She started cleaning, and the three of them shifted into a rhythm, working around each other in an unspoken blur of motion until the kitchen was a clean spotless place, ready to be dirtied again. Darcy grabbed the icing, the dye, started mixing up colours, putting it out into bowls along with some brushes, spatulas, assorted tools. Anything the three of them would want to decorate the tiny things, and she was deliberately not looking at Steves’ face, knew that the love of _art_ she would see there might ruin her happy mood and make her far too hungry to see it more.

The timer went off, the cupcakes done so they had to wait for them to cool, let the heat leave them before they could start. Darcy was sort of waiting aimlessly, that tension from before morphed in awkwardness, when Natasha walked in. Darcys’ head shot up, tracked the woman as she moved, watching those eyes glue to hers before flicking away.

“Hey Nat.” Steve said, and Darcy decided the cupcakes were cool enough, started splitting them between the three of them as they spoke.

“Hey. You guys baking?” Darcy just stopped herself from saying something sarcastic, teasing her about her powers of deduction. It was just shit, so shit that she had done what she had. Yes she was furious, might always be furious with her but it was the sadness, the unnecessary loss of another person she cared about that hurt more.

“Yeah, not sure how they’ll turn out though.” Steve replied, and Darcy was still looking away, had felt Natasha seeking her eyes again but couldn’t bring herself to look up. She was uncomfortable, jaw tight as she stood there and Bucky had noticed, was closer to her and his head was up and fierce, a challenge at this woman.

“Let me know.” Natasha said calmly, and Steve seemed to just be registering the tension, something like confusion in his voice as he answered -

“Sure.”

She left, on feet as quiet as the ones she’d arrived on, and Darcy took a breath, deliberately emptied her mind of anything but that minute, and they started decorating. Her hand was steady, the colours she’d picked separately gorgeous, but somehow, minutes later Darcy was left with strange sweets in front of her. Misshapen, colours blended together, and she’d tried painting Thors’ hammer on one, a telescope on another and really she should have known better than to think she had the patience for it. She looked over, saw Bucky working on his, hand just as steady but with the same terrible results, and she couldn’t help the snicker. His head shot up, eyes narrowed before he broke and gave her a grin, cheeky, unselfconscious and completely absorbing. Darcy looked away, cheeks a little hot and turned her head to see how Steve was doing.

They were small, caked based, pieces of art. Swirls and arches and wonderful things, practically natural wonders in cake form and Darcy couldn’t look away. Had always found something completely captivating about people doing things well. This was no different, Steves’ total concentration meaning she felt like she could watch him, let those seconds drag on and on. Like always when she’d seen her Steve paint or do anything requiring intense focus, there was this split, a separation in her - one side in awe, completely amazed by him, but the other jealous. Because she knew the feeling of having that attention on her, having eyes and mind unwavering from her body. It was an intoxicating thing, and even then, after all the trouble she knew it would cause, she wanted him to look up.

He did, he caught her and she was frozen. Was curious as to what her face would be telling him this time. Then he smiled, content in his work and both of these men would destroy, just with the crinkles around their eyes. 

“Not really hard to tell who the artist is here.” Darcy said lightly, turning to look at the mess she’d made, hoped that her cheeks at some point would start to lose heat like those cakes. 

“M’ no artist.” Steve mumbled and Darcy worried suddenly that she’d said something wrong, got this confused like so much else, but then Bucky spoke, sentences long and involved and completely unexpected.

“Bullshit. Punk here was the best damn artist in town. Had his stuff hung at an exhibition once when we were kids. Little Steve Rodgers better than all the adults there.” It was another relic of their time, one that she’d never heard about in hers, and Steve seemed as surprised at Bucky willingly giving it up as she did. He’d spoken with his head up, looking at Darcy not Steve, but the words were directed at him with her as a channel. A way of saying what he couldn’t to his face, and in Buckys’ voice there was so much. Pride, but also stubborn refusal to let Steve see himself as anything less than the way he saw him, and this really was love, this much joy in someone else's achievements. Wanting them to be lifted to the heights you carried them at. She let her eyes flick away to watch Steve, see a brief look of _awe_ directed at the man before his head dropped.

There were swirls of pink on Steves’ face. Painted across his lips and cheekbones, and Darcy had the urge to kiss the places the skin was warm. Press her lips there, and it wasn’t even sexual. It was more intimate than that, a desire to comfort him, take away his adorable embarrassment.To laugh with him, with Bucky at their guy, tease him with soft words and lips. She was sitting on the edge, that moment before making a terrible decision, looking over at the drop but not really caring about the landing. She pulled herself back just in time, fiddled about with something in front of her, stopped her brain, erratic and drawn to the fantasy, from betraying her and making her body move unwillingly. 

It moved anyway, but she found with some relief it was to pick up a spoon, covered in leftover icing and smear it down his cheek. It was orange, bright and luminous, and a drop of it was falling down towards his jawline, reaching the edge where it was trying to grip in vain to that perfect face. Darcy felt suddenly that she’d crossed a line, didn’t know where it had come from, cursed herself for poor self control. And Steve was frozen, staring at her, mouth fallen slightly. Her own eyes were wide and she didn’t know what to say, how to explain that it was either this or kiss away the heat from his skin. His face changed, Captain America all over and she had a sudden feeling of having fucked it all up.

“Ma’am. I’m gonna have to ask you to lower the spoon.” She blinked, once, twice, and he still had that serious look on face, but there was mischief too, so irresistible and she had to remind herself not to slip again. She held up her other hand in surrender and very slowly put the spoon back in the bowl of icing, let go of the handle. Steve started to grin, eyes locked together before a there was a streak on his other cheek, purple this time, and an arm over her shoulder pressing the spoon there. The drag was slow, icing smearing against his skin, and Darcy tried to keep in her laugh, had a moment to appreciate that he was a good looking man even with food over his face, when a voice rumbled from behind her and through her chest.

“Thought we were havin’ a food fight.” Steve raised an eyebrow at Bucky, and his stance changed, looked ready for an actual fight. Darcy moved to the side, shifted from between them to stand out of the way, was watching them closely unsure what the tension might evolve into. They stared each other out, both still but then the shine off Buckys’ arm distracted her, a slow, smooth thing and she saw him reaching for a cupcake. _Her_ cupcake.

“Bucky Barnes if you touch one of my cupcakes-“

“You’ll what doll?” He asked, and the nickname made her brain fizzle, along with the low way he said it, filled with challenge and something like flirtation in his tone. She didn’t have any reply, was starting to find her lines blurring dangerously.

“I’ll give ya hell for it.” Steve cut in.

“Don’t remember talkin’ to you punk.” Bucky said, on the sharp side, a little prickly, and for a second she expected Steve to crumble at that, for this reminder that they weren’t getting on to break him but instead if anything he stood taller. Seemed to see this like a challenge and Darcy spoke up, wondered how far this whole _alpha male_ thing was gonna take them.

“Hey, he’s a national hero treat him with some respect. Captain America: Protector of Cupcakes.” And Bucky broke then, flicked his eyes to her for half a second to smile, and Steve took full advantage, grabbed one of his cupcakes to smear it round Buckys’ face before popping it into his mouth. Bucky hand came up, and then he was swiping icing off his own chin, licking it off his finger and if Steve was flushing at least the mess on his face hid it.

“Tastes alright, shame about the decoration.” Steve snorted at this, grabbed a towel and threw it at Bucks’ face.

“Asshole.” He said, smiling and just like that they were caught in each others’ eyes. For a moment both of the men were removed of who they were before, just saw each other in that moment, the person they loved opposite them. And it didn’t make her jealous, it didn’t make her bitter, she wasn’t hung up on the other set of men who weren’t there. Looking at them, happy together was like opening the curtains on the first day of summer after winter. Too bright to stare at for long, but refreshing, a blast of heat into cold bones. Her toes were somehow still touching the floor, her body weighed down to the earth like before, but inside she felt free, lifted and so light and warm. Then they looked away from each other, Steve shy at the emotion he was showing, Bucky responding to that and she felt the weight return, that small feeling of being absorbed in someone else's happiness slip away.

She was filled with _want,_ determination to see them look at each other like that again. Starry eyed, full of love and unrestrained by the drama she seemed to have caused. Part of her thought, if she could see these two men here happy, loving and caring for each other, it would be evening the balance. Resetting the scale, so she could shed the guilt that she carried at leaving her men behind. Hope that by seeing them here happy, it would trickle through, travel through all that space, all that time, find tears in this reality, and mean that her two guys, wherever she left them, might feel the same. That this bit of good karma might absolve her of the mistake, might give her a little bit of peace at the unfinished story she left behind. Some comfort that if she could make them happy here, somewhere else her boys couldn’t be anything but the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you this fic isn’t fluffy enough for - This is really the best I can do with these characters in the situation. It’s never gonna be pure happy, fluffy goodness when Darcy isn’t able to see them as their own men. Can you imagine what it’d be like to spend time with mirror images of two people you’d loved and then lost? It would be shit, and literally everything they did would be swimming in memories and bear traps of feelings and if I’m gonna write this I’m gonna write this semi realistic. So, proper, teeth-decaying cuddles and sunshine fluff - thats a while away if ever, because we haven’t even started on the guilt she’d feel in getting attached to two new men, even if they weren’t the sort of same. 
> 
> I thought I’d give fair warning, so if you have to stop reading completely now, do that. If you have to stop reading and catch up when it’s completed (hopefully not all that long away) do that. I’m so thrilled you’ve stayed with me so far, I absolutely love all the comments and kudos, but this is gonna go as it goes, and I fully get that for some people all the angst is frustrating when you have your own endings in mind. :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have had a bit of a crisis of faith in my writing (you could probably tell from the over dramatic last chapter notes). A pretty strong one truth be told, but the comments have been awesome and I managed to write this one in a couple of hours so I guess I’m back in the swing of things. 
> 
> Like always you guys are lovely, and I'm so grateful fro everyone reading this <3

* * *

 

 

 

The two of them, Steve and Bucky, left alone together, now seemed unbearable. Time stretched, all the tension that seemed just under his skin increased, made his body stiff as he walked, his mouth a jerky thing to use. Bucky knew what the problem was, wasn’t an idiot, but he couldn’t actually talk to Steve about it. Every single time he wanted to try, every time he wanted to shout at him, to ask him why he hadn’t apologised, why he risked himself, didn’t seem to think Bucky would care if he got hurt, his bones morphed. They melted, re-shaped, became solid lumps of stone and concrete. Hard, heavy, things impossible to move. His jaw became tighter, his brain almost murky, a fog he couldn’t see the end of, and somehow everything he could think about calmly before, it suddenly only seemed to cause him distress. He would, slowly, from the inception of the idea, contract and get drawn into himself. Shrunk down, compressed by a weight above his head until saying words aloud became too much to consider. Steve must have seen it, must have known because he never commented, the silences they had grew longer and stranger, and Bucky didn’t remember talking ever being this hard.

But maybe that was because they were different before. Steve was always stubborn, stood up for the underdog but he never really fought for himself. Had this amazing way of removing himself from things said to him, showed these moments of compassion and understanding that left Bucky astounded. But now he didn’t seem to want to fight about anything, to talk about anything and it felt like if Bucky started he would just be picking on him. Starting a fight with someone who wouldn't even try to defend themselves, to fix it. And Bucky used to be better at breaking up the awkwardness. He used to be able to say a few words, joke about something and all of it would melt, sizzle in the sun and evaporate like cold water on hot skin. Now he was different, now he was broken and nothing really worked. Their relationship didn’t work, and the only thing that seemed to help was Darcy, drawing out words where between them there would be none. 

He knew it could probably be sorted out with a conversation. That if he explained to him the depth of what was going on - the anger, the pressure he felt, the guilt, the _everything_ that maybe it would loosen and he could breathe around Steve again. That with maybe even a few sentences, brushes of pencil against paper, he could see enough of the image to fill the rest in. To understand that it wasn’t just his recklessness that made Bucky upset. The risk taking really wasn’t new, even with his blurry memories. Steve being reckless was like the sky being blue but the root of his anger lay somewhere else - it lay in Buckys’ own helplessness. That he wasn’t out there to protect Steve anymore. That as much as Steve wanted to protect him, it was the same in reverse, but almost worse. Because Bucky had the skills, he had all the ability to save and help and aid and it was physical this time. Physical challenges that he was more than fit enough to face but he didn’t do it. Couldn’t face going out there, as part of this _team_ , fighting monsters and bad guys and anyone even if it meant helping Steve, who meant more to him than anything else. He hated himself for that, for not being stronger, for being the man he should be and getting over it already. Instead the idea of fighting again made him numb. He couldn’t bear it, didn’t know how he’d react and his yes the mind control phrases had been removed, yes he knew and recognised Steve as Steve, had left those corrupting ideologies behind. But the nightmares, the flashbacks, the unexpected times of being somewhere else, his mind sent back to a memory while his body remained the same - it was all too much. Fighting triggered it, it changed him and his brain was the enemy again, anxious and exhausted and he should be different. He was physically fine so why was he too scared to help? This selfishness, it went against everything Steve was. Was a slap in the face to the man and Bucky was ashamed.  Because Steve wouldn’t do this, he was better than this and Bucky was left to try and catch up, to not only be the man he was before Hydra, but also be someone worthy. To be worthy of Steve and of love, and of care.

They’d joked about Captain America a lot back in the war, about the drama of it, the pretend, how everyone saw this big beefcake when really all Bucky ever knew was the skinny kid inside. Steve was chosen for a reason, for his heart and his mind and it couldn’t be denied. He was good. Unbelievably good, despite his many faults, and it shone through.

Because no matter what, throughout all those years Steve looked up to him, wanted to emulate him, Bucky was always trying to catch up to the little guy. To his bravery, to his fight, to his absolute determination. And he felt less, humbled and before he was fine with that, accepted it was his place to be the shadow cast by Stevies’ light but now. Now it felt less like something to aim for, and more like a sign he should give up. And maybe that was why he was so drawn to Darcy, because she saw something in him. Or maybe she didn’t, but he felt like she was bringing out this side to him, things he couldn’t say to Steve that were said indirectly in his presence. She was a lower bar almost, because she wasn’t asking for anything - Darcy just wanted their company. To heal wounds, to wash away the faces she knew before, who could say but Bucky didn’t question it. As much as she needed them, they needed her because without her there, easing the silence, he wasn’t sure they would be able to manage.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey Darce.” She was sitting on the common room floor, often found there now in her free time and she was spread out in front of large piece of card, piles of printed photos next to her. Bucky watched her head fly up, faster than it would for most people, hair bobbing in the bun she wore.

“Hi.” She said, in the same way she had since the beginning. The same look, the same tone, every single time it was like he took her by surprise. Even if she spoke first, it was like she’d only just opened her eyes and he was the first thing she saw. Woken up, born, fresh and clean to the world and always amazed by his presence. Awe and happiness and everything in a flash before her gaze flickered around his face. Tried to categorise him quickly, sense his mood, wellbeing whatever she could read there. And always after that, her eyes found his arm. 

To being with this had unsettled him. Made him unsure, rigid and uncomfortable but then he’d watched her, seen the way that metal weapon calmed her. Settled her heart, even when sometimes it produced a drawn down face, disappointment. It made her breath after that easier and so he stopped tensing at it, let her do what she had to so they could carry on. Let her wash the image of the ghost from his skin and see him as himself, even if the process cost her. 

“Need a hand?” He asked quietly, crouching next to her, wanting to reach out in large hungry handfuls to the photos, see her face a hundred different ways.

“Sure.” Darcy replied, stuck down a picture she had, her and Dr. Foster from behind, both of them looking up at the sky. She explained it was for the Doctors’ birthday. That she wanted to arrange some photos on the board, put glitter or paint or other things between them and make it look nice. _Memories of us_ , she said softly, and Bucky had to look away from the conflicting emotions in her eyes. All these images of the two of them, hundreds of them, some new some very old and Bucky was seeing a whole other woman in them. Someone happy, carefree, face open and cheeky. The Darcy in the photos was _younger_ , not only physically, though she was. It was in written in her face, in her with a cocktail, wearing stupid hats, singing at karaoke. In her eyes then, and now, separated by time. He couldn’t see any of Darcy and the Dr. since, wondered at how much their relationship had been changed not just by the portal, but by Steve and Buckys’ being there. 

He was working, sticking photos she’d selected and it was the candid ones he loved. The ones taken of Dr.Foster and her in the lab, weird angles while she balanced on a stool, or slept with pop tart on her face. There were single ones of Darcy too, grinning down at an ipod, making cakes with her tongue out, hair all over the place as she worked in the lab, the clock behind showing an ungodly hour. And Darcy was being liberal with the glitter, pouring it from her palm in shining streams to areas she’d glued. A thought occurred to him, and uncharacteristically it slid out of his mouth instantly.

“Stevie’d be real good at this.” He pointed out, and Darcy paused, seemed to be stalling with the pretence of deciding on a colour before she gave a hum and reached by him for some more photos. It reminded him of Natalia, of half-answers and mysteries, and not giving away too much. Because they both knew Steve was training that evening. He would be out of the tower all day and way into the night. She had chosen today, this time to do this arty thing, instead of another point when Steve would be back. Would see them, and she’d ask him if he wanted to join in, and he wouldn’t say no and it would produce that look on her face again. The one he’d seen when she was watching Steve make cupcakes a few weeks before, indulgent and full of emotion. It was sneaky for her to do it now, smart and no doubt grown from her need to separate this Steve he knew from the one she did.

It still confused him that she’d invited Steve to bake, even more that the three of them had been hanging out since. That she would put herself in that position, not just one but both of them. He knew it was for him, for Steve, had heard the conversation between the two of them. That she would try and mend them, something it wasn’t her responsibility to do, it was an amazing thing. Brave of her, to bear them together in the name of help.

Especially when she obviously still struggled with Steve. Bucky saw it constantly on her face, the way she looked away, sharply and with quick breaths. Like splinters in her skin, tiny pieces of glass she was brushing her fingers over. He wondered what it was - treatment or punishment? A way to help her move on, or just keep on pushing her until she felt she’d taken enough. Time would be the only way to find out, and he hoped with everything he had it would be the former.

“Who’s this guy then?” Bucky asked, holding up a photo of Darcy and a tall man taken from his long arm, Big Ben behind them. Darcy turned away and looked at the photo, and then her eyes crinkled, shot to his.

“That’s Ian.” She said it like he should know who he meant, a smile on her face, suddenly lit up and full of laughter. And it was a luminous thing, bright and intimate before it was cut off in it’s potential. Meant for someone else and Darcy looked down, frowned as she seemed to realise this. There was a pause and Bucky busied himself, took away the burden of his eyes. “A guy I used to date.” She said simply, voice deceptively light but not encouraging any more questions. _You can talk to me,_ he wanted to say. _You can talk about them if it’ll help_. But it was stupid, hypocritical for him to suggest she opened up when he couldn’t do the same.

“Lotsa pictures.” He said a few minutes later, indicating the the pile, hundreds of them spread out, obviously a whole collection, not just of her and Jane.

“Yeah. I printed them all out when I got back.” She replied, and and the board was coming together, full of happy faces and funny things. There were a few sad ones in the pack, pictures with one or the other grumpy, over tired, meant for documentation not affection and she’d left those behind. Only chosen the happiest images of the bunch. What did that say about her? About their friendship? Maybe she had enough awful memories now, didn’t need images of them to remember. She spoke again, hesitant and like she hadn’t meant to start.

“I never used to see the point. Seemed so stupid when everything was on a phone you know?” She was brushing glitter off, and he’d just realised what she’d done, that it shone like the milky way, great swirls of colour against the black. And she wasn’t an artist, cake decorating had made that clear, but she’d still done something beautiful.  Something arresting that he couldn’t drag his eyes away from. “Back then, that was all you had. No copies, just that one photo to keep and you had to protect it, no back ups. If you lost it, that was it.” The words were so final and absolute, someone who knew exactly what that loss meant. She was talking as if he didn't know, didn't have his own memories lost to time but at least here his had existed.  “After a bit you don’t remember things so clearly, and if the photos' gone…..” She trailed off, leant back to look at the board but eyes blurring like she wasn’t really seeing it. “It’s like it didn’t happen at all.” He tried to say something to comfort her, to say that he saw it differently, that memories weren’t built on images or even other people but stored in your own mind for safe keeping. His words were toffee on that subject and he suddenly saw it from the other side of things. Because it might not be the things that happened that mattered the most to her, events and meetings. It could be everything else, because otherwise she wouldn’t find their presence so bittersweet. It was their mannerisms, movements, the tiny details that she’d caught in the candid photos. The ones that screamed personality, habit, all these day to day things that the mind forgot. That was what she got from them, that was what had been taken from her in this world. The things that could be triggered from one image that showed the whole soul of someone, down to their core. He didn’t know how he could possibly comfort the loss of that.

“She’ll really like it.” He got out finally, had to clear his throat of emotion before he spoke. Darcy was quiet, finally looking at the board properly.

“Yeah?” She asked, seemed almost vulnerable.

“Yeah.” He replied, and Darcy was looking at the photos, flicking from one to the other and a smile grew, small and fragile, but it was there.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jane was on a trip away, gone for a few days so Darcy had to wait to give her the board. She’d left Bucky earlier, carried it back to her room, careful not to lead a trail of shiny things on the carpet. She put it by the side of her bed, fell asleep looking at those happy faces and memories, tried to cling on to the woman she saw in those images as she drifted off.

It had felt like a memory, time from the war mixed with modern day. It was one of those dreams where you arrived in it with a whole other past. Whole other truths and information, no plot just all these feelings. Endless emotions, so strong there weren’t even words. Completely overwhelming, so much so that even when she was in the dream, the feeling of sobbing, wet tracks down her cheeks, it drew her half way out, one foot in the real world. You would think this would help, that a bit of consciousness would ground her but instead it did something worse, drew it into the real world until everything was confused. 

It all became blurred, crossed over and so when she woke up in the middle of the night it was messy, twisted and undefined. It didn’t feel like waking up, a sharp break, providing alertness and context. It felt like sliding out of something, sleep still clinging to her brain in heavy tendrils. She woke with the knowledge of where she was, of the men she shared this time with. But also, the unignorable, illogical, whole body _feeling_ that Steve was distraught somewhere. That he was in trouble, that her actions had caused him pain, he was miserable and it was her fault. It was guilt, blinding and complete, and she was crying as she pulled the covers off. As she grabbed a gown, stumbled down the hallway. Looked in her fridge for milk, found none and so had to go to the common room. By now the sobbing was lessened, small hiccups and waves that made her able to function even despite the thoughts. She was fixated on her task, had to grab the milk, pour it, start heating it up on the hob. She felt mad, was sure that no one made milk with the level of intensity she was offering it but there wasn’t any other way in that moment. If she let her mind stray it would all come back, the nightmare that felt like reality and the consequences of her actions.

That she could never make up for any of it, this was a thing she had to live with every day, and the dream reminded her. Shoved the truth down her throat and it was relentless, overwhelming as it forced tears from her eyes in torrent. The milk was on to boil and she was shell shocked by it, staring at the liquid, willing it hotter so she could put it in a mug, perform some magic ritual and fix everything.

“Darcy.” The voice was quiet but it made her jump, her eyes wild as she looked up frantically. For a moment, a long, long moment she thought it was her Steve. She saw him there, hair mussed and sleepy, looking at her with concern and she crumpled. Thought he was a ghost, couldn’t bear him there, needed him to go, needed him to stay. Her face was compressed, lips pressed tight as she tried to keep everything in.

Before she came back she hadn’t had these nightmares for years. They were the kind she associated with childhood, with being young and immature, not smart enough to be consoled by logic and reality. The sort where you could carry it all day, afraid of imaginary things, monsters under the bed and hiding in cupboards. It was ridiculous really, that she put all the horror, the crying down to intelligence and not to actual emotion. That now she was older and smarter, now that they had started again since she lost the men, no amount of logic could help. Each nightmare was traumatic, it was whole body distress and each time she was inconsolable. There was no parent to run to, to crawl into bed besides, to hold her and tell her she’d be alright. She woke up each time alone, had to rely on herself to calm down and it was never enough. It left long scars on her, made sleep something to _get through_ and she had enough trouble in the daytime so how was it fair her nights were robbed too? But this time here Steve was. Tall and concerned and the person she had just seen, in a hundred different worlds and ways, destroyed by her selfishness.

She could blame the dream, she could blame the exhaustion, she could blame millions of things but the truth was that she broke. Darcy reached the end of her self control, the end of what she could take, and suddenly she wasn’t thinking about Steve, or the past, or the future. She was deep in snowy woodland, alone and afraid. Cold punched into her, and she had just seen shelter. Somewhere warm to curl under, to give her some relief from the constant numbness, and she took it. Took it, because she couldn’t remember why she shouldn’t.

She stared down, had a half second to stop herself before she started speaking. 

“I know you’re not him. I understand that.” Her voice was surprisingly calm, and she knew this was wrong, unfair, ridiculous but couldn’t stop. “Just for one minute, could you pretend that you are?” She paused, was too ashamed to look up, to draw herself away from that milk and see his reaction. “Like you could care about me, and that you’re safe. That you're him, and he’s here and I don’t have to worry anymore.” Her voice broke on the last bit, wavering and thick. Darcy finally looked up and he was staring at her, face completely unreadable. There was dread in her stomach,  if she’d asked too much, if it was unreasonable and she didn’t know if she could take the rejection. Another Steve damaged by what she’d done. He moved quickly, round the side of the counter, turning off the milk in one move before wrapping his arms around her.

“Darce. It’s ok, I’m right here. I’m safe.” The sob was an explosion, it bounced off of his chest and he held her tighter, was a solid block of comfort and she was isolated in those arms. Completely separate from everything, enclosed and protected and he was talking to her, leading her to the sofa, sitting her down as he spoke. He was fine, he was here. Everything was going to be alright because he said it was. She could stop crying, it was a waste of tears when they weren’t needed. His hand rubbed at her back, her head buried into his chest and her dream was being corrected. Fixed a word at a time, and she was calming down, returning to herself, to somewhere warm and safe while this man pretended to be someone else. 

It was a slow thing, like a train coming to a halt, and his body was a furnace, skin pressed against hers so familiar that it could do nothing but make her relax. She was defenceless against it, maybe in another situation if he’d held her and talked to her like this she would have fought it, run and hid and been afraid. But as it was she was weak, unable to do anything else but relax and accept it.

She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to push herself away from him and the way her body melted into the side of his. Darcy had to, was aware enough now, away from the fog of the dream, to realise what she’d done. There was shame, deep and encompassing, and Darcy was so embarrassed. Unbelievably angry with herself for asking that much of him. She was quiet, pulled away to wipe at her eyes and say -

“Steve, I’m so-“

“Darcy.” He cut her off, and voice firm but gentle, a blanket on her skin. “You don’t have to apologise for asking for what you need.” She looked up at him, eyes wide and watery and was unable to speak. Couldn’t say thank you, or why are you so kind? Or the hundred things she thought of. She nodded, a small movement and then stood up, walked over to the counter and calmly poured her milk. Thought about offering him some if she could get the words out, but when she looked up he was gone, disappeared and he seemed to know exactly what she needed. Had taken away all the awkwardness by leaving her, given her a chance to recover alone. To bring back up her defences and she was grateful, but also miserable, because as much as she knew the fantasy was a dangerous one, she hadn’t wanted to give it up just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to get into Bucky’s head a bit with this one, get a bit of understanding about how it is to not be able to say how you feel. I think it’s especially hard for guys to talk sometimes, and that plays a massive part in their relationship, that they can’t really be vulnerable with each other but when Darcy, a woman’s around, they can. Like she gives them permission to be something other than than super masculine and defensive.
> 
> As for the nightmare - it’s not a sign from the other side or anything, it’s just plain old grief and guilt. :( Also I was gonna have her fall asleep on him but I thought that would be a bit much for both of them.
> 
> Next time: Steve Pov, and Darcy finally starts to talk about her boys.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for the delay guys, and to the comments I haven’t replied too.  
> You are all so lovely, and I will try and reply to everyone but it's a bit hectic at the moment. I actually had to split this chapter into two so the next update will definitely happen next tuesday, I’m trying to be a bit more consistent from now on :P  
> The reason it took so long was actually the memory of the three of them (you’ll see what I mean), I couldn’t think of anything good enough and then last night - bam! Absolutely lovely, reminiscing about imaginary people. I hope you enjoy :D

 

“Darcy it’s beautiful.” Jane was staring at the board, standing in her living room, and Darcy blushed, heat to her cheeks that she ducked her head to avoid sharing. Jane said no more, and so Darcy looked up, saw her completely absorbed in it.

She watched her eyes, brown and intent as the travelled around the pictures. Jumped from one to another, tracing faces and smiles, and it bought one to Janes’ lips. Memories overriding everything else so she couldn’t help but be happy. It was exactly what Darcy had wanted to do, to give her something she could look at and feel nothing but joy. Something good, reminders of the two of them, that even if it wasn’t like that now, it was once and Darcy would always be grateful for it. 

All of a sudden the woman spun, eyes shiny as she hugged her tight, held her close and spoke into her ear. “Thank you.” Darcy smiled, feeling a bit teary herself, hugged her tighter, happiness bubbled up in her chest alongside relief that she’d done a good thing finally. They pulled away, Jane smiling widely as she looked back at the pictures. Darcy realised it was the first time she’d seen Jane look like that in a long while. That Janes’ face, in all of it’s wonderful variations - exasperated, happy, grumpy, it was foreign to her now. It was more than just the time, five years in that other land and another one here distant, it was Darcy, how she’d changed so deeply and Jane had lost her in the process. Her own smile faded quickly at the thought, spurred on by a lump in her throat, another pang of pointless guilt.

“I’m sorry it’s not like that anymore.” She said, and Jane turned to her, head tilted in confusion.

“What?” 

“That we’re not-“ She trailed off, tried to find the right way to apologise for this thing. “I know I’m different now. I wish I could go back to how I was, be who you remember but-“

“Is that what you think?” Jane interrupted, not smiling at all now, if anything looking a little stricken and Darcy really hadn’t meant to do this, felt like it was all she did now with her, pour mud and tar and acid all over whatever good mood they tried to build. She felt nervous suddenly, regretted speaking at all and hated this feeling of having said something she couldn’t take back.

“We don’t talk as much, and I know it’s my fault.”  And Jane moved forward, her eyes getting bigger and mouth wide and soft before she was speaking.

“Darcy no. No. It just seems all so …. trivial. Most of what we used to talk about, it’s rubbish. Who wants to hear me complain about a broken spectrometer or how Thors' eaten all the pop tarts again? It just all seems so unimportant.” And the way Jane spoke, it was like she thought it was _her_ fault. Like Jane didn’t want to bother her with all these small, wonderful, distracting things about her life that Darcy loved because they not only bought her out of her own problems, but also let her talk with Jane, hear about how she was. She hated that the things that had happened to her, that what _she’d done_ had put this distance between them. Darcy afraid how she’d changed, and Jane not wanting to tread with heavy feet on troubled ground.

She could laugh at the stupidity of it all, but instead she felt relieved, saw this as a chance to help things instead of leaving them as they were.

“It’s not unimportant.” Darcy said, was not all that good at sharing her emotions anymore, but knew that she wanted Jane to know she cared. “I miss you Jane. I miss how we were.” _How I was_ , she thought, and her relationship with Jane would always be a symbol of that. Something to measure herself against, who she had been and who she was now. The Darcy before those men, that love and tragedy happened to her. Jane had a crease in her brow again, made sure their eyes were locked before she spoke.

“You’re still you Darcy. You’ve changed, but so have I.” She let the connection go, picked at her sleeve in favour of meeting her eyes. Jane carried on, hesitantly this time, face so expressive but to the floor and so Darcy couldn’t really see the emotions there. “And I don’t ask you about the whole Steve and Bucky thing because, I don’t want to upset you. I don’t know what I can ask, about any of it.”  Darcy tried to come up with a response, had to mull heavy words over her tongue before she could lift them out.

“I don’t know either.” Her answer was honest, and she expected it to frustrate Jane but instead she nodded, gave her a small smile and accepted it.

“Ok.” She replied, and it was suddenly something like _easy_. Manageable, and it was stupid she hadn’t done this earlier, just talked to her and tried to improve things. Darcy wanted this to carry on, to tell Jane that it wasn’t a closed topic, locked and hidden from view, something never to be mentioned. 

“But maybe you can try anyway? And if it’s too much I’ll just not answer and we can pretend like it never happened?” She finished it lightly, crinkled her nose at the question and shot Jane a smile that she reciprocated.

“Ok.” She replied again, opening her mouth to say more before snapping it shut. Darcy kept in her laugh, tinged with something like fear because she knew that Jane had questions already lined up, thought- out forms lacking in information that she wanted the answers too.

“You wanna ask one now?” She asked with a smile she hoped was encouraging, that might have been warm and welcoming despite the nervous feeling in her chest. Jane seemed to weigh this up warring with herself before she finally got one out.

“You’ve been spending time with them here. Does it help?” It wasn’t one Darcy had expected her to start with and she wasn’t prepared to answer it. Didn’t really know how when she avoided looking too closely at her reasons for hanging around them herself, let alone the effect it had. Darcy picked at her sleeve, avoided her eyes and tried to work out a way of telling her the truth without telling her the hard, concrete, unyielding, cold bones of it.

It’s bearable - that was what she wanted to say but knew that it would scare Jane. That still after all this time she was still only really able to take it day by day. That _bearable_ was the most she expected, the most she asked for.

“I think so.” She said eventually and Jane nodded, face solemn, didn’t push any more. Her mouth opened of her own will, one of those rare times that she offered more without meaning too. “I- I think I fucked up though.” Her tone was light, gentle despite the words, and it could have been years ago, her moaning about another guy, another situation. 

“How?” Jane asked, face curious, and she didn’t know how much to say. Had to decide whether to push herself past the barrier she’d built. Darcy explained, opened up about the night, the nightmare, Steve comforting her - all of it, in messy but still censored detail. 

“The nightmare, what caused it?” And this was the scientist in Jane. The person who wanted to figure out the triggers, the cause, the reason behind it all. What happened that day that set her off, meant her night was filled with pain and tears and awful things instead of peaceful sleep. She wanted a link, cause and effect that could be drawn and plotted on neat graphs, gathered up with the rest of the data so she could come up with a solution. Darcy could see it in her eyes - large and hungry for information. To take measure of her, collect everything they could. It came from the best place, that loving, caring, beautiful spot that wanted Darcy to be alright, to be looked after and protected. That wanted to take away this trauma, bundle it into figures and hard facts that could be combatted with a small pill, injection or operation. Darcy knew that wouldn’t work, wished it could, would gladly spill out every bit of knowledge she had if it could help her, but knew better. Her life couldn’t be fixed by _data._

She couldn’t be monitored and tracked and have her world sterilised of things that caused her pain because they were always there, all the time. It wasn’t a certain day, a certain trigger, it was forever and that would be too depressing to say aloud. That it just was, constantly. It lay under her skin, something too sensitive to touch but too imbedded to get away from either. Some things made it worse, sometimes it was harder to ignore but trying to find the reason was pointless. Because the cause was obvious, it could never be fixed, and it was entirely by her hand. Darcy didn’t say this, had accepted a long time ago that her friendship with Jane when it came to these things, would have to stray from complete honesty. She loved her like a sister, knew that she saw her the same way, so saying things that would hurt her were to be avoided at all costs.

“It just happens sometimes.” She said, gave Jane a smile and a shrug of her shoulders. Downplayed it because if she told the truth she already knew the reaction. 

It made her miss Natasha, all of this. Because whenever she told her things it was met with stillness, with calm. She was the perfect person to say the unspeakable things to because it just bounced off. She didn’t get upset with Darcy, or for her, she just accepted that it was how it was. It was exactly what she needed, no pity or sympathy, had learnt long ago that those were useless to her. As clinical as Jane was, as scientific, her care for Darcy was the most difficult thing. She was so empathetic, felt others feelings like her own and so it was no use telling her. It was no use explaining these terrible things she felt, because then Jane would feel them too, and seeing a mirror of it on someone else’s face, it was too much. It would just show her once again how much it all hurt, and at least while people were treating her like she was fine, she could carry on believing that. 

“Hows’ he been since?” Jane’s voice cut through her thoughts and Darcy had to consider the question carefully. She had seen him a few times since, now and then in the halls and once with Bucky when they got together to watch shitty tv. Steve had just been Steve, the same as he was and she had worried at it. Wondered if it was just his way to keep receiving whatever false tribute and punishment she was giving without complaint. 

“Normal. Well as normal as we are with each other, but I feel bad. Like I forced something on him.” Jane actually snorted at that, rolled her eyes and sat down on the sofa, led Darcy along with her so they were curled up.

“Darcy, you could hardly force him to do something he didn’t want to.” Darcy shook her head, didn’t really believe that and now more words were coming out, pouring from her lips and she was saying things she hadn’t meant to.

“I couldn’t help it, I shouldn’t have asked him but I couldn’t help it. It took me right back when he hugged me. Like none of it had happened for a little bit.” Those minutes she was curled up, covered by Steve and his heat and arms it had been like wiping away everything else. His body pressed against hers, voice curling round her ears. It had bought her such a level of pure, undiluted comfort it inevitably dragged her back to the past. To seeing her guys, the happy days before the war and how easy it had been to feel safe back then.

“Tell me something about Steve and Bucky.” Jane said, and it jarred Darcy, drew the mournful look off her face as she frowned.

“You’ve spent time with them.” She said gently, and her friend shook her head.

“Your Steve and Bucky.” And it was like being given permission for something she wasn’t sure she wanted. She was so tired of not talking about them, of not letting herself think about them it ate her up. Destroyed whole parts of her personality because she felt like she had to be on guard, restrain her mind from wandering to those places. And it wanted to travel there constantly, hungered for it, for all these useless facts about two men she’d never see again, bought up time and time again by the too similar ones here. So what Jane was asking was more than Darcy simply reciting memories. It was opening herself to them, sliding towards the water with a hope of just dipping a toe in. Attempting to control it, lower a limb in to the change of temperature and praying she hadn’t made a mistake, a stupid choice that meant she got pulled under permanently. 

Darcy realised it was the first time someone had asked about them. In all that time, a year now, no one had ever wanted to know. 

Maybe because for them Steve and Bucky weren’t dead, they saw them very day, so they couldn’t really understand the loss she felt, when replacements were so easy to come by. Maybe, for them her fall through the portal, two weeks of disappearance, was a blip, a small thing that had a massive impact on her world but barely made a ripple in theirs. Or maybe it was neither of those things, it was just that they, like Jane, hadn’t known how to ask.

“Once we tried to go dancing. When the three of us were together for a bit during the war.” She had started speaking, a mistake but now the story was started it couldn’t be left unfinished and the rest of it was following on, scarves from a magicians sleeve, never ending, appearing from nowhere but unstoppable.

“We were laid over in France, had the night off somehow and had found this little club. Steve, he wasn’t a dancer even before he became y’know, Captain America. Somehow he was less co-ordinated, his body too big for his bones and so trying to teach him was useless. He could do so much when he wasn’t thinking about it, the way he would fight- that was like a whole other type of dancing, but as soon as he bought his brain into it, it all went out the window.

So Buckys’ trying to get him to come, we never had enough time together, and basically if he didn’t go, none of us would. He manages to convince him, spells it for him, paints him a picture with words abut how the three of us will be. How no-one will know him, how we might actually get to be ourselves for a little bit, how he’d be missing out on me in seamed stockings. Steve gives in, like he always did whenever either of us asked for things, but swears he’s not gonna dance. Says he doesn’t want to embarrass us, which is bullshit because that couldn’t happen, and who gives a fuck about other people anyway?

We go, the halls’ jam packed and Steve is like glued to his seat as soon as we get there. You’d have thought he was born with it attached to his ass. He tells us to go dance, says he’s just happy to watch us and it was so frustrating. Buck pulls me out for one, but it doesn’t feel right, it never did when it wasn’t the three of us together. So we sit back down with him, and they have this small argument that I end with drinks and kisses and it’s almost ok. Except -

Steves’ tapping his foot, like he _wants_ to dance. Like he wants to get up there but he’s stopping himself for us, or because he thinks he’s gonna make a fool out of himself or something. Cause’ he actually loved dancing at home. When it was the three of us and he didn’t care he would dance for hours, I mean he was shit at it, but it didn’t really matter. Bucky sees this, is annoyed by it and he gets this look in his eye like he’s had enough. He’s done with all of it, doesn’t want to be there if it means only the two of us are gonna dance and Stevies’ too embarrassed to get up.

So then Bucky stands up, looking like determined, like he’s going to fight or something. Starts dancing, by himself in the middle of this club. Buck- it sounds so cheesy, but he always had rhythm in him. Like in his blood, in his heart, whatever. Under his skin, so the way he was dancing then - his arms thrown around, head bobbing to some other music, it took skill for him to be that out of time. Real skill, that no one except me and Steve could appreciate because to everyone else it just looked like some caveman hearing noise for the first time. Some uncontrollable thing, like a sneeze or hiccups, like there were insects biting him, he leg was on fire, mini disasters happening all at the same time. 

It was completely jarring, and every time you thought he’d caught the beat he’d do something else, a weird hand wave, some clumsy footwork and it’d be gone again. We were just staring at him, like the whole club, because none of us had ever seen anyone dance like that in public before. He had no shame, no anything and I thought he’d lost his mind before I picked up what he was doing. That he was being a distraction so me and Steve could dance together.

He was dancing like I don’t know, a moth flies, just so Steve wouldn’t be embarrassed. So that when the two of us got up - and Steves' crying with laughter by the way, actual tears running down his cheeks because Bucky’s got this cool cat, easy as pie smile on his face like he isn’t gonna get whiplash - and Steve actually looks like he knows what he’s doing by comparison. He hardly even trod on my foot, which was a miracle by itself, but the both of us are so distracted by like the train wreck going on we can’t fully enjoy it.

 _Kinda feel sorry for the guy_ , Steve said, and I did too so we go over and like the locals are sort of backed away, giving him some dancing room and he’s using it _all_. Has completely taken over that bit, and Steve is like trying to tell him he can stop, dance normal and Buck just carries straight on. Is smiling like he can do it alllllllll night, and I’m thinking - _fuck, he actually might_. So I start too, go back to that phase I had when I was a kid, my obsession with like punk rock and ska music, start jumping up and down, throwing my legs like I never learnt to walk. Shout out a few ‘Yeah!’s just to really sell it, and Steve is staring at us like we’re crazy, before he joins in, looking the most in time of his life next to us. 

And the three of us are just dancing, laughing our asses off, and a local comes up to us, a really pretty lady done up all nice, obviously out to have a good time and we’ve fucked it all up by like dragging down the tone of the place. Did I mention it’s a swing club? One of those classy places and we’re here probably killing it’s reputation. 

So the local, she talks to Bucky, she says - What are you doing? And Buck goes - S'how we dance in America. Real serious, straight faced, and Steve had to hide behind me, was bent over laughing so hard. And then the woman wants him to _teach her_. To teach her how to dance ‘The American way’ and I don’t know if it was that Bucks’ such a good looking motherfucker, or because, I dunno, he actually could dance well, even when he was trying not to, but we spend the rest of the night ‘teaching’ people, like a different thing every time, and it was perfect. The both of them, and me. The three of us, it was just the best damn night.”

Darcy finished, sat back on the sofa and the room was silent. It was the most she had said in a long time, the most she had said about them, to anyone. She didn’t know what she expected to feel, didn’t know what telling the story would do to her, but she mainly felt ok. As in, not filled with pain, not made to suffer by the words she’d spoken, instead she just felt even. All the misery, the joy, balanced out and leaving her intact.

While she’d been talking she hadn’t really been there with Jane. She’d been back in that club, re-living it, seeing them, watching the both of her boys. Life breathed into the memory of them and they had become solid before her eyes, nearly as real as the two men here, made flesh by her voice until she stopped, and she was left without them again.

“They sound hilarious.” Jane said, her eyes were soft and the smile on her lips was too. Darcy wondered what her own face had been like while she was telling it, if she’d been just as caught up, taken away as she felt. If it had shown in her eyes, lit up by the past, if for a minute she had been someone else, who she was before and Jane was as in awe of that as she was.

“Yeah.” Darcy nodded, swallowed down the tears that suddenly bubbled up. Spoke again, somehow addicted to sharing already. “You would’ve loved Bucky. Such a nerd, couldn’t get enough of all the technology. We went to the Stark expo once, this massive thing and you should of seen his face. I tried explaining iPods to him once and he just didn’t get it. Like his mind was blown by the idea of it. Always wished I’d taken it over with me. Probably would’ve died in the river but-” She let her voice trail off, go thin and quiet before dying. This time she felt the sadness more, the way she was tinged with _things she should have done_. It was a long list, kept her up at night, but Jane sensed it, leant forward and hugged her with strong, caring arms.

“Thank you for telling me.” Jane said into her hair and Darcy shut her eyes tightly, swallowed down tears again. Didn’t know how to thank her for listening.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The nightmare had been something else. Steve hadn’t expected it to end up like it did, arms wrapped around Darcy, murmuring comfort into her head while she calmed down. He hadn’t known how to react when he’d first seen her, obviously struggling, so her asking for what she needed, it had been a blessing. And maybe it had been more than she’d thought he’d give, he’d seen that much in her face, but it wasn’t, not really. It had felt like finally offering something, Steves’ way of trying to help, finally blessed with instruction to do good for someone and he hated that he enjoyed it so much.

Enjoyment was the wrong word maybe. It was another feeling, more similar to satisfaction, protection, giving care to someone else. Because she said it herself, she wanted him to pretend to be another man, so that feeling of contentment- making her calm, easing her pain- it wasn’t really meant for him. It was meant for someone else in his skin and he couldn’t help but feel conflicted about it. He cared about Darcy, appreciated everything she’d done for both of them, so her asking for that help it was repaying a debt he hadn’t known he’d been accruing. Whatever she had seen behind closed lids had traumatised her, and the words he’d used to comfort had been instinctive, natural and he was so pleased they worked.

After, Darcy had pulled away, washed away the tired fog from her brain and seemed ashamed. All he could manage was to tell her it was alright, they were ok, that this didn’t have to be another thing she should apologise for. Because here Darcy was, being vulnerable to him again and again, showing him her softest parts and it didn’t make him see her any different. He didn’t see her as weak, if anything he was really seeing how resilient she was, what she coped with, put up with every day and still came back from. It was inspiring, it showed so much courage for her to be around the two of them and still be able to maintain some sort of control. To limit her feelings to one small slip in the dark hours of night and even then, only linger in it long enough to pull herself together.

Steve was in awe of her, but also something like jealous because she _just did it_. Darcy wasn’t fearless at all, was obviously kept back but she did it anyway, let him see the cuts in her skin, the scars left from other fights and still maintained some sort of dignity. He was shown by her, without her even realising, how to open up to things and still remain whole. And he still couldn’t do it, wasn’t brave enough like her, to face talking to Bucky. Ask him years ago, before the war and the serum and everything and he wouldn’t have seen the problem. The words would have been spilt from his lips like too much water in a full mouth, a solution come up with and it would be sorted, neat and easy with a minimal amount of trouble. As it was now, after everything, he was kept back. Worried about what saying the words would do to him, what might happen to Bucky on hearing them. That them finally talking wouldn’t just confront this tension they had, but also bring up other things, things that lay in the base of their friendship. Things that had no business being resurfaced, and it could make it all crumble. The words would force themselves between the cracks, lodge themselves in unreachable places and what once was a small problem would become something entirely unfixable. 

If he didn’t speak, didn’t say to Bucky - I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting, how reckless, how stupid, if I put you under pressure, if I’m not giving you enough support. I know I’ve done things wrong but there was no guidebook for this, no map or mission plan and I don’t know how to tread this line between who you are and who you were - Then he wouldn’t have to face it, to wait for drawn out minutes, while the man formulated a reply of his own and produced it.

Because he was terrified that the answer would simply be - It’s not your fault. You are who you are, and I am who I am now and this is it. There’s no point carrying on when this damage has been done. We were friends once, you were like my brother but I’m not the same person. You’re not either and I think I’ve had enough.

Bucky was everything to him. Had been everything from such a young age, was the person he looked up to, sought help from, loved even and so for him there was never any other choice than working on it. Staying and trying to fix whatever they had, this brotherhood, this friendship, this whatever. On Steves’ end there was no doubt it was worth it, would always be worth it, and maybe once the same could be said of Buck.

But Bucky was different now, had already had Steve wiped from his brain like dirt on a clean window, and yes he was remembered once but what good had that done him? What good was it half remembering just for Steve to see another man in his skin?

The best thing that had happened to Bucky since he came back had been Darcy, and Steve couldn’t even hate her for it. She was able to do what he couldn’t, draw both of the men out of themselves, let them interact without the weird agenda they both seemed to be unconsciously running. She helped Bucky, was so patient, and despite the past she had, was somehow able to see him as himself. Darcy was maybe the only person who saw Bucky clearly, how he changed, how he was each and every day. She didn’t see The Winter Soldier, she didn’t see Bucky Barnes from the Howling Commandoes, she just saw him then in that moment, and that was something Steve would maybe always struggle with. That was one thing of many, where he fell short. Where he wasn’t doing well enough, helping enough with this man he loved and it was terrifying to acknowledge that.

So if he didn’t say anything, anything at all then he didn’t have to find out what his value was. If he was worth staying for, working on or if Bucky would breathe a sigh of relief, feel like he was being let out of a bear trap he’d been caught in for too long. 

Yes there was this tension, yes he could tell Bucky was frustrated with him but at least, when they were side by side, wrapped up in anger and self preservation and every other difficult thing, they were still _side by side_. He had Bucky next to him, and he would take that every day for the rest of his life. It was selfish, and cowardly and something he wished he was stronger about, but the fear kept him back.

Because if he spoke, apologised to him, who could really say if he would be worth it to Bucky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next update should be Tuesday. I’m pretty busy with work at the moment, and then just lazy in between, which is a pretty terrible combination :D  
> Let me know what you think about the memory, as soon as I thought of it I was like - this is adorable and perfect, and Bucky is a dreamboat.  
> Next time: Steve and Bucky continue being Steve and Bucky. Darcy and Steve talk. Maybe more things, maybe less.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long wait so sorry for that, I’m gonna try and write another chapter this weekend but who knows how that’ll go :P Works’ getting busy so the rest of this is likely to go about the same disorganised way. Your comments keep me going, each one of you are so kind and lovely and it’s so brilliant to see people reading and liking this :D

“Wanna train?” Steve asked him, poking his head around the door, trying to act calm and not like his palms were itching. Bucky looked at him, those eyes so arresting now, before nodding in a quick sweep, his body moving fast, up, grabbing his bag and like that they went down to the gym. It was empty, a private floor on the tower for the Avengers alone, and they started warming up, jogging separately on treadmills. Exercise at least was something they could both lose themselves to. It gave them a nice excuse to spend time with each other. Not talk, but still orbit in the same way. Move around the other, close enough for comfort but nothing else. Bucky didn’t fight anymore, avoided all physical contact with everyone in truth, so time was spent on weights, bags, separate but focused pursuits of the same goal. Steve had wanted to ask him to fight, to train with him in hand to hand, in anything like they used to but already knew the answer. He wondered at his resistance, why he wouldn’t fight him or anything else anymore. Maybe a small scuffle, the two of them trading blows, might be able to air the stale thoughts they both had. That with some well placed punches, some blood, it could empty them both of the things they weren’t saying. That actually, if they fought together in the field. If Bucky decided to join him, it could be like the old days. The two of them side by side, a team instead of pushing and pulling against each other. 

He moved off of the treadmill, wiped off some sweat with a towel before wrapping up his fists. Headed to the bag to aim for something else, to punch and not think about why Bucky wouldn’t fight by his side like it used to be. His blows were rhythmic, heavy bass to a beat that was never really echoed in war, and they didn’t falter when Natasha walked in the room. 

Bucky was working off to a side, didn’t seem to pay attention when she approached Steve. Asked if he wanted to spar, run through some moves, some scenarios, practice for a fight neither one wanted to have. He agreed, and the two of them went to the ring, circled like animals and got to work. Natasha had always fought brilliantly. Controlled, precise and completely without fault. Her technique was impeccable, infuriatingly difficult to counter, and obviously drilled into the bones of her, her self awareness so complete he sometimes wondered if she even took a breath without being aware of it.

Normally, he could find a way around it. Childhood scraps, his own years of experience meant he was better at improvising, better at the random but powerful moves that would catch her off guard, but today he wasn’t on form. His reactions were failing him and every chance was cut off by a kick, a grip, a twist he couldn’t get out of. His breath was coming harder, hers too, but she was still getting the better end of it, his fists not making full contact. Steve flew up, landed heavily on his back, was bought down with a knee that ended up on his throat, body locked down tight and immovable. He let out a huff, a small smile that Natasha sent back before she offered a hand to help him to his feet.

“Not good enough.” Buckys’ voice was quiet and controlled, artificial and icy. Steve turned to it, frowned, still not used to Buckys’ mouth directing tones like that at him.

“What?” 

“S’not good enough. You need to be better than this.” His careful eyes were watching him, formed into knives that cut and dissected every move Steve made. There was a shiver sent up his spine, a warning of The Winter Soldier, and he didn’t know whether he should be worried about it. Steve turned away, faced Natasha, careful to see her reaction. Watched for fear, or panic, or some other slip that might tell him how to take this man. There was nothing, and Steve had to come to the understanding that this was Bucky. He wasn't sent back to another man, this was Bucky as he was now, frustrated again by Steve. They started again, faster now, each move more determined to cause injury even though they both held back. The room was punctuated by sound, rushes and drags and thumps and the noise of two people concentrating.

Bucky was getting more agitated, more tense although to anyone else it might seem that he was calming down. Steve could only recognise it because he'd been watching him recently, trying to learn the differences between old and new, love and hate. The way that the energy now didn’t in fact lift up his feet like it used to, pushing him up and round a room, but that it instead pooled in them. It sat, seemed to make his body lead, cold and heavy, kept him still and fixed to a place. His movements seemed to shrink, the inside of him too. He was kept in, away from the edge, a character trying to push it’s way out of a skin but slowly getting dragged further inside. 

Steve felt his face send the man a worried glance, a mistake that cost him the fight, Natasha suddenly over and on him, his body pinned down in an uncontrollable way, his options limited to everything but submission.He had no problem loosing to Nat. Her ability was exceptional, and he had lost fights enough times to take them as learning experiences and not as crippling personal failures, but Bucky apparently didn’t agree. When Steve stood Bucky was furious, almost frozen with anger, and he was completely dumbfounded. Confused and then angry himself. He didn’t know what was going on, was blindsided by the inner workings of Buckys’ brain and what he had done wrong this time. Why today, with this fight, it had caused this reaction but other times it hadn’t. Hot blood pumped through him, slick and painful, causing a heavy pulse in his head he didn’t want to ignore. 

“Fight me.” He demanded, voice firm and he hadn’t meant to say that at all. But it was said and Bucky moved then, reared back like a horse spooked, was staring at Steve with an unplaceable look on his face. There was silence in the gym, the air light around them, smooth as water so that any sound travelled instantly, a torch in a dark room. Natasha was watching them both, her stance relaxed, deliberately calm despite the tension around her.

“Fight me.” He repeated, sure now. It seemed simple to him. Steve felt almost calm with it, that this would be the answer to everything. It could be like it was, it would be fixed with some punches. Bucky could punish him, hurt him, whatever this thing was, get over it and they could be normal. Steve needed this, needed the blows against his skin and knew that each one might be able to lift something. That it would unwind both of them and this horrible situation, the heavy words, the heavier thoughts that clogged up both of their minds. That they could return to how they were before, let their guards down and not fear the others' actions. Actually look at each other without feeling hackles raise, feeling defensive and secretive. Be around without using Darcy as a channel for everything they couldn’t say. He was begging Bucky with his eyes, felt almost fanatical about it, truly believed a fight was the answer but Bucky didn’t see it the same. He was standing somewhere else, looking at the situation from an unknown vantage point, and he shook his head in a firm strike. 

Bucky turned, firm and strong, picked up his water and left. Went away and Steve stood there, watching his back as it disappeared. His blinks were slow, reality coming back to him as he realised it hadn’t worked. That in fact, this reaction had done him no good at all. Bucky had been looking at Steve like he didn’t recognise him, didn’t know him. Like Steve didn’t know him either, like they could no longer find a way to relate. He suddenly wanted to throw up. To find a toilet, press his face against the cool porcelain and rid himself of this feeling. The feeling that he’d just fucked it all up, that it was a mistake and now Bucky had realised something Steve couldn’t.

He couldn’t understand what the fuck was going on, what had just happened, the mysteries inside Buckys’ head that he would be able to puzzle out if the damn man just told him. But he hadn’t, and here Steve was again. The man who could never do anything right, was hurting the person he loved, destroying this thing they had brick by brick by brick, plaster and ruin over his head as he struggled to breathe around the dust.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Steve I -  Are you ok?” Darcy had wanted to apologise to him. Again. Like she seemed to have to do endlessly. For taking more than she should have that night and putting him in an awkward position. She felt guilty for it, embarrassed and angry for being so weak but when she had caught up to him, sitting in the gym on bench, she had seen his sadness like a beacon. A sign that told her now wasn’t the time to wallow in her own feelings when his were obviously so painful. He had looked up at her words, so out of it he was surprised by her presence. And on his face there wasn’t a smile, no polite, fake thing to satisfy her, just Steve and maybe her heart skipped at it. Maybe she loved that this look was honest, it wasn’t him trying to please anyone and although it wasn’t the warmth she used to know, it was something just as true.

“M’fine.” He replied, and it didn’t even cross her mind that it could be her. This thing he was feeling, curling his hands, drawing down his eyes to the floor, it was couldn’t come from someone who meant so little to him. It was Bucky, could only be Bucky that caused distress of this scale.

“Tell me.” She said it quickly, a soft demand without real thought, dug up from elsewhere and Steve carried on looking down. He was picking the label on his water bottle, jaw tight and his arms right angles resting on his legs.

“Nothin’ wrong.” He said with lightness that was completely fake and redundant. As if she could be fooled by this poor impression when the rest of him screamed something else.

“You’re a shitty liar you know that?” She said, raised an eyebrow and he let out a huff that could have been amusement in another situation. Steve shook his head, swallowed but didn’t look up. Darcy waited.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” He had almost mumbled, so tight were his lips pressed together. It reminded her of bear traps. Of sharp metal, closed together tight, unable to produce a gap for something to crawl through. The animal caught, stuck there and not able to do anything, understand anything really. Not how it had been put there, not if it would get out. He couldn’t do anything but accept that was where he was, trapped firm and tight, waiting for something to come. It was Bucky. Not the trap, that was of his own making no doubt, but the thing he was waiting for. Bucky to what - help him out? Or end it finally?

If it was her boys, she’d just lock them in a room together. Start the fight herself, push their buttons until all the pent up shit came out and they got it out of their system. With these two though it was unknown territory, unmapped land and she was afraid of pushing too far into the jungle. Scared at what she might uncover and what she could unknowingly cause.

“Ok.” She said quietly, and Steve looked up surprised. Surprised that she’d dropped it, stopped digging and allowed him to be miserable if that was what he wanted. Of course, that didn’t mean she was gonna let him do it alone. “You wanna see something cool?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They went to the roof. Not the actual roof, roof, the helli pad or whatever the fuck Stark had installed up there now, but a roof. A floor that had access to an extra bit that was big enough to lay on the ground and look up at the stars. This would normally be a problem, what with New York being what it was and light and air pollution being what they were, but Jane had built a thing. A careful, delicate, sturdy, incredible window that lay above them. It was made of some Asgardian material, some thin fabric that hung above them, like clear horizontal curtains that cut through the haze. It meant that they could lay under it, side by side, pillows under their heads and look up, straight through into a night sky straight from the middle of nowhere. It was incredible, each star brighter, more beautiful, completely engulfing to the eyes.

Thor had bought it back for Jane, wanted to give her a piece of clear sky she could see even in the city. Jane had bought it here, seen something too good to hoard and shared it. Erected this thing so others could see what she loved. Steve had the same reaction most people did when they arrived - total wonder. He looked how children felt watching films about magic. Blown away, filled with belief in this other thing, taken away from his adult body and the damage that it was causing him for a moment, and allowed to be in awe of something. It was difficult and fantastic to see all at once, and Darcy had to sit down, turn away and lay looking up just so she didn’t have to see it. That was her favourite part of it, the part she wasn’t really allowed to take but she did anyway. Not the view, or the way when she stared at a star it seemed to warm her up, like sitting in front of a icy fire, lighting up her body. Her favourite part was seeing peoples’ faces. That moment of complete, unselfconscious emotion dragged out because it couldn’t be contained. She craved it, and seeing it on the face of the man she loved, it was breathtaking. 

Steve got down next to her, not saying a word and laid back with his neck fixed craned upwards. She let her eyes linger for a minute, imagined she could see the stars reflecting off of his pale skin. Her chest was tight, an involuntary spasm, and she pushed past the bittersweet fantasy that it was another man who looked like him in his place.

They stayed like that, no words spoken and Darcy waited. Stayed still and calm, thought of crocodiles waiting in the water, people sitting by their loved ones bed-side.

She ignored her instincts. All the impulses wrapping around her hands, her arms, her mind, whispering things into her ear, a warm gentle pressure that sung to her. The beats that she had to restrain, to pull back so she didn’t do something inappropriate laying there next to him. The thing that told her to roll on her side, lift up his arm and wrap it around her body, curved and spooned against his. That told her to slide a hand under his shirt and lay it gently on his belly, wrap a leg around his, press her flesh against the pillar that he was and be comforted. Those instincts were all meant for someone else, and it was strange that they were so strong now. That laying there side by side with him, staring at the sky, could somehow be the biggest test for her self control so far. 

It disturbed her, because even in his pain, his obvious distress, she was seeking comfort from another world. But perhaps the fact that he was upset was why. Maybe it was because for her Steve, a palm laid in the right place would help him. That her touch, born from care and love and need, could calm him against whatever was going on. Here it was different, each action carried different weight, triggered something else entirely and she was afraid it might make things worse. That, like a scale, as well as it aided her Steve, it could hurt this one. Make him uncomfortable, or embarrassed, that even a friendly, well intentioned pat on the arm could send whole other reactions through his body that she had no right to cause.

It was safer for Darcy to do nothing. Not to muddy the clear water with this soil from another place. She would lay by his side, avoid all contact, even though her body knew a brush of her hand would help, and keep the lines firm and dividing. Keep flesh separated by the barrier of air, not let them brush and mingle and soothe the stirring in his mind.

“I don’t know.” He spoke suddenly, softly but with emotion, the wonder having worn off and his worries filling the empty space. “I don’t know what to do. I’m messin’ it all up. Everythin’. Bucky. I just don’t know what to do.” His words were slow, long pauses between them, each one an admission and she knew it was costing him so much to show his wounds like this. 

“You could talk to him? It almost always helps.” She spoke with care, both of them still looking up. The magical power of speech without eyes puncturing your skin. Another long silence, both of them absorbed in thoughts and lights, staring at long dead things left in the sky.

“What if it doesn’t?” Darcy realised she was a sounding board for him, a version of the same arguments he was having in his head. The tossing and turning of them, finally given something different to hit, a different direction, a different answer that might just help him.

“Then you’ll come up with some other way to fix it.” Of this she was sure. Some things were how they were, and Steve would never give up on Bucky. This was a small bump in the forever of the two of them - they would get over it and move on. 

“What if he doesn’t want to?” He asked, voice low and quiet. Scared, even, and she had only heard it like this once before, a world away where a different Steve found out the man he loved had died. It wasn’t this unwilling comparison that made her freeze. It was the meaning that crawled into her, settled there and took a bite from her lungs, meant the air was not enough as she breathed in. Darcys’ eyes widened and she had to turn her head away slightly, even though they weren’t looking at each other. She needed a view clear from him so she could show her disbelief and pain to the sky without it getting reflected back.

It was unacceptable. Completely unacceptable that Steve would think it was a possibility. That he could even consider Bucky capable of giving up on what they had. She had to take some time, had to think it through because she didn’t know how to explain it to him. That this was another thing unchanged between the worlds. That Bucky, who he was here, and who he was there, could never abandon Steve. Could never look at him, regardless of any action, thought or deed, and decide he wasn’t worth fighting for. 

She knew this, knew this so deeply, that his doubt of it felt like a fist to centre of her stomach. A firm press that knocked the wind out of her, unexpected and brutal. She couldn’t get her words clear from the toothed chasm of her mouth, struggled with them, throat tight and clinging to the idea. Darcy was floored by it, bones mashed into crumbs, stirred around under her skin, so deep was its effect on her. She took some breaths, looked up at the sky and tried to control all of her emotions. The way her feet were already in Steves’ shoes, looking out through the window of his eyes and feeling his fear as if it was her own. 

“He does.” She couldn’t say anything else. Couldn’t actually get any more words out of her lips because it upset her too much. It made everything so blurry, and she didn’t know the correct way to comfort him, didn’t know if she was capable. All comparisons to her men felt trite, and unfair, and made an argument back too easy for Steve to form. Too easy for him to speak and believe, and her simply saying - I know this. I know that he loves you, that he could never give up on the thing that you share. On your smile, on your love, on even the messiest parts of you because I feel it in that thing some people call their soul. I feel it under my skin like my own fucking heart beat and if I’m wrong, then that would be wrong too. It wouldn't still be there in my chest, carrying on after all of this and something would have to be broken in this universe for it not to be true. - But it would not be enough. It was too emotional, too caught up in the other men, and so she didn’t add anything else. She let those two words hang in the air, let the firm, sure tone of her voice say what she couldn’t, and hoped it would be enough for him to believe her.

There was a brush against the outside of her hand, and if it hadn’t been so falsely familiar she would have jumped. That tiny move made her heart clench, her mouth dry, nervous as a teenager on her first date, scared as a mother counting her childs’ breaths at night. Steves’ arm, laid out next to hers, his little finger brushing against it's equal on her hand, splayed on the ground. An offering. A mistake. A chance. A moment to comfort this man as he had comforted her, to help him when he needed it. 

There was noise in the back of her head - something like a clamour and a sigh all at once. A thing that told her the wires were crossed, the water had never really been clear as rain, that with this touch, all of her careful separation could be undone. It was squashed with ease, so firmly it was like it had never been, as her hand slid, palm over the back of his fingers, and took them gently in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t really meant to be romantic at all. Like in the slightest, but I get it can sort of read that way. It’s kinda difficult to write the difference between loving someone and wanting to touch them because you want them (like lust) and wanting to touch them because it’s almost familial, like home and comfort and love in the purest sense of the word. Anyway, I hope I got the balance right. I really didn’t intent for things to get romantic at all at this point (or maybe ever, the jurys still out on which way it’s gonna swing for me) so yeah :P  
> Let me know how you think I did, and also if your team Blue String Boys or Red String Boys because I'm still pretty torn.
> 
> Next Time : Natasha and Darcy clear the air (kinda), and maybe Stevie boy finally getting his man.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! So soon! It wasn’t intentionally this long I swear I just wrote it and then couldn’t edit it at all because I clearly need someone else to read my shit and tell me when I ramble too much.  
> Not sure when the next one will be but this was a probably awful thank you for all of the incredible feedback :3  
> It’s so good to hear from all the different camps, everyone who’s supporting the different strings and I would love to say that it’s made my decision easy but it hasn’t because all of you have made such awesome arguments :O So, at the moment the ending is gonna be a mystery to all of us because even I don’t know :’D

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That touch of hands, a small gesture as they lay staring at stars, it was forgotten the next day. Pushed aside in her mind, stored with all the other memories she didn’t think about. The details of it were strong, burnt there more fiercely than the others she kept, a box containing moments of warmth. This one was still fresh, still potent and dangerous to analyse. It had a different flavour, had fallen from a different tree but she shoved it in with the others all the same. She buried it next to her thigh brushing against Buckys’ on a ride at coney island, his hand, cupping her elbow as she walked down some steps. To a thumb, tracing her bottom lip to wipe the edges where her lipstick had smudged, Steves’ eyes watching the movement. 

The action itself, she didn’t regret. He had needed comfort, she had given it. A sign that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to be afraid that night, and it had been an easy thing to give. But it had still changed her. Allowed something to cross over and she fought to keep it back, to stop her hands from roaming freely now that they’d had a taste of the thing they once knew. They were greedy beings, desperate and separate, kept back from good sense by a hunger she tried to contain. She channeled the energy instead, focussed her mind, had talked to Steve that night, tried to help him plan how to start talking to Bucky.

Invested, that would be a broad understatement for the way she felt watching these two men. They were moving round each other, careful in their distance and words and her days were filled with holding her breath. Waiting for Steve to break, to talk to him, to try and fix it but it was a slow process. It was thick honey poured from a tipped over jar, falling in slow drips to the floor.

Darcy, herself just watching them, felt tense. She needed this thing sorted, it unsettled her to know that they were fighting to this scale. That it could have carried on, that their relationship was getting worse, souring like left out milk and she couldn’t do anything about it. She was almost frantic inside, too concerned, unable to separate herself from them and their movements. 

She was in the kitchen, cooking pancakes to make her hands move reasonably when they walked in. They had both come back from the gym, were covered in a layer of sweat and anger. Whatever had happened before, it had happened again and the tension she’d seen with them was still there. It was electricity, cracked between the two of them, needing something to strike and why was Steve doing the hard job of fighting with him when a few words would be easier? Each one of them were unable to start the conversation and she watched them move, take different paths to the fridge, both giving her a grunt in acknowledgement. It was familiar, the half concentrated sound of them both looking for food, ignoring everything else and she had to press her lips tight, stop questions coming out. Stop herself asking the source of it this time, knowing that neither of them would be able to give her an answer even if they were being honest.

They still stayed with her, both of them. They congregated together even though it obviously caused them trouble. So whatever happened, whatever doubt might have crept in, burrowed deep and set up home, it was chased out. Exorcised by the fact that they still remained. They were both desperate for a solution, so much so that they used her as an excuse to be around each other when they could have just given up.

Glances, left and right between them and she couldn't keep her own eyes still. Steve hadn’t broached the subject, hadn’t talked to the man at all, and it was rotting the air around them. He sent her a look, something between pleading and frustration, and she wondered if he wanted her to start it. If it was somehow her responsibility to mediate between these two. She craved it, was driven by this desire to see them happy, together and whole. It was probably unhealthy, it was definitely wrong but she couldn’t control the feeling. She just knew it had to be better between them. She had survived a lot of things in her life, but having to be in this world, without the men she loved and watch these twins slowly grow apart from each other, that was too much. 

Darcy wanted to say something, something simple and easy to make them both crack, break out of the masks they were wearing. To stop whatever was holding them back, the fear, the trauma, the drama and just let them speak honestly with each other. They were children, wrapped up in adult bodies. Emotionally stunted in a place that linked their minds to their lips and Darcy wanted to help them so badly. Was constantly restraining herself because it would be so easy for her to take charge of them. To say - Here, this is what he feels, what he feels. You love each other, you know this so stop this nonsense. Talk to each other, correct this one syllable at a time and make things right. 

But she couldn’t. It wasn’t her duty or chore to do the work for them. They had to learn it themselves as much as it killed her. Her interest in the two of them was too much, led from the other time and she knew it had to be controlled or it could cause trouble. It was almost impossible though, when they sat in silence, eating pancakes slowly as if they were waiting for her to start. To tell them how to behave, trigger something with the thoughts in her head said aloud. 

Darcy carried on cooking, making some spare to put in the fridge, her own stomach filled from before and her hands were getting quicker as she worked. An outlet for the fast thoughts in her mind and she was worried about what would happen when she ran out of batter. She looked up to see both of them in similar positions. Both with their heads down, a fork out to move food around the plate, a look in both of their eyes that only appeared because they thought they were unseen. Faces so fucking sad. So tired of all of it and a lump appeared in her throat, that desperate feeling coming to the surface and she couldn’t hold it in, didn’t want to any more, needed to say something so it wouldn’t carry on.

“We have a mission.” Those words weren’t hers, or from her lips and Darcy jumped at the sound. Natasha had snuck up, taken advantage of all of their distraction and now stood by the side of the counter. She was talking to Darcy alone and she felt herself bristle.

“I’m off of missions.” She glared at the spy, couldn’t think of a worse time to be taken away from the boys than then. 

“It’s Hydra.” This was a lie, Darcy was sure of it but she couldn’t prove it, didn’t want to work out Natasha’s games and plans and why she suddenly needed them to work together again.

“There are lots of agents.” She pointed out, tried to make it obvious that any other person would be a better option.

“Not for this.” Fuck Natasha for knowing her so well. For knowing that Hydra was her weakness, something she would be unable to turn down if called up for. She didn’t say anything, and the woman pressed her, raised her eyebrow in challenge. “Is that a no?”

Darcy wanted to hit her. Had a true and strong desire to strike this woman for this thing she was doing. 

“I can help-“ Steve started and Natasha cut him off.

“No.” Their eyes were locked, green against blue and Darcy could see no compromise in them. “It needs to be Darcy.” 

“Working with you?” She got out through gritted teeth, and she could feel the boys watching them, seeing this confrontation from the outside, one object being bent by the others will.

“Yes.” Because of course, it would be too easy otherwise. “We have to go now.” She knew it was pointless to argue, hated that this had just been decided for her. She wanted to turn to the boys, say something important that would get the ball rolling. The thought of leaving them, even for a mission made her nervous suddenly. She hadn’t been away from the two of them in weeks now, and part of her, a small and fragile part, was afraid that they too would be gone when she returned. They looked back at her, the both of them looking how she felt, and Darcy wanted to protect them, was scared of the trouble the two of them could cause without her there to mediate.

“Now.” Natasha said again and Darcy, turning off the hob, resisted the urge to swing the pan at her face.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Whatever mission there supposedly was, it could have been done by anyone. It did not need two agents, certainly not one who was among the most renowned spies in the world. It consisted of sitting in a hotel room and watching one fucking person in a building opposite. A person who had been asleep the whole night, was obviously ill and was not expecting any visitors. It was a joke, some sick game the spy had formed out of nowhere for no good reason, and Darcy was furious. She was expected to sit in a room with Natasha for who knew how long - the details that had been revealed were selective at best - and just accept it was her fate. She wondered if it was a mission at all, if this was another trick and they were staring at a random person for no other reason that Natasha was bored and wanted to fuck with her.

A small part of Darcy could admit that it was for the best, that her removal from the boys was a good thing even if it made her chest tight, but Darcy didn’t want to admit it. She couldn’t stand the thought of being grateful to the woman for taking control of a situation again so instead she stayed, sat in silence, in a hotel room in Texas, wondering what riddle she would have to solve so she could get back to them.

It was there that the conversation started, in the same way as many had before between the two of them. A topic, pulled from the air, a time or place long ago suddenly picked up on a fresh wind, blown into the room as if it had been present just a moment before.

“I won’t apologise for it.” Natasha said, and Darcy was tense already. She was kneeling, looking out of the telescope on this bullshit mission, feeling trapped in this room, in this situation and hating herself for not being able to figure a way out of it.

“Obviously.” She said dryly, hoped that was the start and end of this talking.

“So can you get over it?” A blink, black slowly covering her vision as she kept looking through at the building opposite. Felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, lift up like worshippers to the sun, shake with energy needing release. Darcy licked her lips, let a breath out slowly.

“What?” 

“Get over it. It happened.” 

“It happened.” Darcy repeated, anger building, her body a poorly constructed vessel for the feeling. “You made it happen to me.” 

“I didn’t keep him alive here.” And Natasha knew what she was doing, she was pushing these buttons with purpose and force, trying to what - make her snap? Darcy didn’t have time to think about it because she was taking the bait, every scrap of it, flesh in her teeth in gory chunks and maybe now she wanted a fight too.

“You let me walk into it blind.” 

“You survived it before.” Darcy’s head snapped round at that, some primal urge to growl at the woman pulling at her mouth, her hands tightening in front of her. 

“Thats’ not the fucking point. What you did - It wasn’t -“

“It wasn’t what? Nice? Kind? Who did you think I was?” And this made the rally pause. Made Darcy stop in the torrent of words and replies in disbelief, feeling all at once foolish and justified.

“My friend.” This caused two quick blinks, a second of Natasha looking away before her eyes returned and she started talking in a calm, smooth voice.

“If I had told you, it wouldn’t have changed anything. He was never going to remember you.” That stung and how could Darcy forget how brutal the woman could be? How she could make facts feel like knives in her skin? “You don’t think clearly with them.”

“Really? Weird that isn’t it? How seeing my dead husbands’ has that affect on me.” Her mouth was pulled back in a sneer, Darcys’ gaze intense as she watched her words reached the woman, looked desperately for some crack that said they were getting through.  “Of course I don’t think clearly with them. Of course my reaction was going to be fucking terrible. But you took away my choice. All of my fucking choices by not telling me.”

“And if I’d told you? What would it have changed?“

“I don’t know, but I didn’t get the chance to find out. You didn’t give me any options but spilling my feelings again.” That was the crux of it. Darcys’ fucking dignity. That again she had given up something to people. Again she had worn her heart not only on her sleeve, but had it exposed to the world without warning. It was enough that in those moments she had to find out simultaneously that the men she loved had survived, but that they were also still dead. How was it fair that it could be deliberate? That it was almost timed, planned, thought through and the end decision to warn her, let her take that first awful breath after the knowledge away from strangers eyes, it had not been made. It was heartbreaking, and no matter what, if Darcy had the chance to give someone else their dignity in times like that, she always would.

“What if I told you that you still had to do that anyway. Had to meet Bucky, this Bucky, and act like it was a surprise, like you didn’t know. You would have been able to do that convincingly? Even if I’d warned you?” Her skin was prickled, cold and on end as she processed what Natasha was saying.

“Why would I have needed to do that?” 

“You know you were being watched when you first came back. By Shield, and whoever else had an interest in you. It carried on, even after we trained together, all the way up until after your meeting with Barnes.”

“Why?”

“You were unknown. You came back from somewhere with a story, and they needed to know who you worked for. They were looking for chinks in your story, a sign that you were sent to do something. You left and came back and they needed to know that the only pain you would be causing was your own.”  It was so much to process and Darcy was trying to keep up, really was but every now and the Natasha would say lines like that, almost poetry and it seemed to cut her a little bit. Darcy swallowed, started speaking.

“That doesn’t explain-“ It was cut off, and Natasha explained in measured, even tones, how she had come to a decision that broke Darcys heart.

“If I had warned you, they would have seen you lying. You’re not that good. You would have tried, and failed to be honest in your reaction. And that, that really would have taken away your choices. They believed you, like I knew they would and so they’ve left you alone. You didn’t wonder why you didn’t get questioned after? Why you haven’t been followed up? Asked for more information? If they hadn’t believed you, you would have been bought in, made to tell everything in detail to strangers until they made a decision. And that decision might not have been to let you stay at the tower. I might have been to force you to stay. I didn’t warn you because it was the smart choice. And at that time, and you weren’t able to make it.”

It was quiet after, Darcy having long ago given up looking through the telescope and so was staring at carpet instead. At the reds, at the blues, all these pieces of thread winded together to make a pattern that could be seen from afar. She didn’t know how to react to any of it, understood the intention perfectly well because it fit in exactly with who Natasha was, even if another part of her was broken by it.

“Why are you telling me now?” And the question might have taken the redhead by surprise because her hands faltered as she cleaned her knife. 

“It’s ineffective for our relationship to carry on like this.”

“Seriously?” Darcy asked, disbelief in her voice.

“Yes. “

“Is that all?” And she didn’t really know what answer she wanted to this. What answer Natasha could give that would affect anything.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Her voice was firm and Natasha didn’t move. She didn’t seem affected by the word, changed in any way. Darcy could have almost believe she hadn’t spoken it as she stilled, let the time drag out and she stared at those green eyes waiting for an explanation. Waited for more, but silence was what she got. The ambiguous sound of nothing where there could be words and she shouldn’t have been surprised really. Because why would Natasha compromise herself with lies, or worse the truth when she could let Darcy read what she wanted from a blank sheet?

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I wish you hadn’t done it.” This was said later, hours or minutes, her voice quiet but without the hurt it would have had before.

“It had to be done.” And it really was that simple to her. It could be that simple to Darcy too, if she let it. She resisted the urge to laugh, to growl, to react beyond saying-

“Still. It was fucking horrible.”

It was strange, the feeling left under her ribs. She wasn’t angry anymore, she wasn’t sad, she was just kind of bemused by it all. Darcy had never met someone like Natasha before. Would probably never have the dubious privilege of meeting someone like her again. She was cold logic, twisty plastic that could be shaped and bent and folded to any situation that was required. She was effortless and practised, years of training made to look natural and a friendship with her was not an advisable thing. So why was Darcy still listening? Why had she come along when she had really know what it was about? What was so compelling about this woman that she still cared, that she found her honesty, her lies, all of it so captivating that she couldn’t just wash her hands clean and be done? The woman was an alien, from elsewhere but Darcy found that it settled her. That their differences, of which there were many, balanced the two of them.

Here Natasha was, laying it out. Saying without sound - Accept it. Accept me. Accept that I hurt you, that I did it for reasons that I thought were right. Accept that it could happen again, that I’m high handed and manipulative, that I will make decisions about you because I think I’m more capable than you are. I can be cruel and I can hurt you, teach you and care, and you won’t always know if I’m reaching forward to give you a hand or reaching for the knife by your side but this is it. This is the closest you’ll get to knowing me, the closest I can allow you and it will have to be enough. Accept me as I am, as the things I’ve done and let’s move on from this.

It was epic, it was shameless. If it was manipulation, it was in such plain sight it was invisible. She was breathtaking in her solidity. It felt honest, it felt real and bare. It was almost vulnerability, carefully crafted to look like strength. She was standing in front of her, letting her think and plan and decide. Not giving her any more information, not trying to woo her with apologies or anything else, just letting it all speak for itself and what a challenge it was to choose.

Because she could never trust her, Darcy knew that, knew that in fact Natasha would teach her the lesson herself if she didn’t believe it. That if she saw a weakness that Darcy had she would exploit it, push at the holes until either she buckled under the pressure or put up better defences. 

Darcy had to decide on it. Decide if she thought it came from a good place. If Natashas’ reactions, her behaviour came from wanting to help, that each cut she caused was to prevent the bigger knife, or if it wasn’t. If she would always only care about herself, or if Darcy had somehow slipped inside.

They would never be like they were before, Darcy naive to the fog of Natashas’ morals, but they might be something different. Maybe this was the thing Darcy had wanted from her. Honesty, or something like it. A laying out of facts and scars, injuries caused and gained. Something like knowing Natasha a little better, as much as she might ever be allowed to. 

She wondered if she should ask her the things she wanted to know - If she felt guilty, if she liked her, if their friendship had meant as much to her as it did to Darcy. They were stupid things, small gifts and she felt like a girl at school, insecure, nervous and betrayed by her own self consciousness. 

If she really thought about it she knew the answer. Natasha didn’t have to try and fix this thing between them. She didn’t have to push at her, twist things and bring them to a head. She didn’t have to set a mission for today, draw her away from the Tower and her boys and their drama which she watched too closely, but she did. Natasha had, and Darcy couldn’t believe that it was for any other reason than it was best for her.

Because all of this, it could have been done differently. The whole conversation could have been done better, with more emotion, with tears or at least some display beyond what was seen. But it wasn’t. It was carefully removed from everything. She hadn’t apologised, she hadn’t shown any real feeling just laid out the facts on the table for Darcy to decide. And that, weirdly was what helped her. It was what finally made Darcy believe that she cared. Because Darcy could have been manipulated easily, as hard as it was to admit. She could have been swayed with soft words, a slow breakdown of walls, small flashes of remorse before a final dramatic crumble. An apology, affection, a hug even and Darcy would be sold. She would fall, hook line and sinker because she didn’t like to stay angry at anyone. 

So why had Natasha chosen this method? This risky, dangerous, blunt weapon. Something at close range, highlighting all of her flaws in stunning detail when the job could have been achieved much more easily from a distance. She had to believe it was out of care. That Natasha actually did give a shit about her. That this was the closest she got to sharing herself with people. That this careful, precise method, accept or decline, was Natashas’ way of asking her to be her friend. 

“Why didn’t you tell me straight after? After I found out Bucky was alive? Why didn’t you just explain it all to me?” And Darcy waited for the answer. Already knew the vein it would run in - that she would have been too furious to listen, it would have caused more drama, more trouble in the team. That she left her alone, gave no explanation because it made things easier, even if it broke Darcys’ heart a little bit.

“You needed someone to be angry at.” At first Darcy didn’t really understand it. She frowned, looking at the spy, waiting for something else to go on before it kind of slid into place in her brain.

That Natasha would take the anger, the ending of their friendship, because it was actually beneficial to Darcy. That she understood her so well, knew that she would recover sooner with something besides her grief to focus on. She had seen Darcy before, the struggle she had, the way she had to run away from Steve because she felt only sorrow when her eyes touched him. So she had given her a gift, allowed her to feel something bordering on hate, just so it could distract her, give her something else to cling onto when all of her hope was destroyed again.

Her body leant back, she had fallen into a chair some time ago and only now was she registering the change in perspective. Seeing Natasha from a different angle and maybe something in the room had switched, or something in her mind, but it felt like she was noticing her for the first time. Observing the space in between them and what a step closer would really mean.

They were never going to have what her and Jane had. Comfort and love and honesty and kindness, it would be something else, something different but still dazzling. Clarity, cold windows to see the world through. Teamwork, partnership, respect, efficient and completely unique when compared to anything else she had in her life. Someone to be brutally honest with, to say the things she kept from everyone else, to show her darkest fears, thoughts and grief to without being afraid of her reaction. What she was to Natasha she didn’t know, but she felt it then, the certainty that she _was_ _something_ to her. Friend, partner, equal, student. For the moment, that was enough. Darcy had missed the woman, had spent so much time grieving people that even this one, with her mess and pain and weird plans was worth holding close. She was a cat, held tight to her chest, calm and sedate but still with claws ready to be unsheathed.

“Ok.” She said, watched the spys’ face for surprise. Got nothing and smiled at herself for thinking she would see something different.

“Ok?” Nat asked, and Darcy gave her a slow blink. Stared her out a bit more, not because it would have any effect but just because she could. She let a smile split her face, showing too many teeth before she spoke, voice wry.

“Ok. I’m over it. Can we go back now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Nat and Darcys’ relationship just got a load more complicated. When I started writing this, Nat was meant to be a small part, a friend for her to hang with or whatever. Sort of an experiment for me because despite the many awesome female friendships I’ve had in my life I somehow never write them in fanfic. And then Nat changed, and grew, and became a whole character with twisty morals and beliefs, and their whole dynamic sort of doesn’t fit in with how I wanted this story to go, but it’s in now and I’m a bit in love with it. I hope it makes sense, I’m not really sure how it’ll affect the plot apart from making my decision a truck load more difficult about who she chooses to leave or run too.
> 
> Please let me know if it doesn’t make complete sense/ if I need to tidy it up a bit (which I will be doing anyway), especially if Nat’s motivation needs a bit of work. You guys are awesome and I really value your opinion on this stuff so hit me up, I actually live off of constructive criticism and headcanons :P
> 
> Next Time: Steve and Bucky talk, maybe share some feelings but are still emotionally constipated because progress is a slow beast with a rock in it’s foot.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely comments guys, thank you! I love that you love Nat as much as I do, even though her morals are messy at the best of times. Not sure when the next update will be, but it will probably even be a little fluffy :D

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Tell him you love him. Tell him you want to make things better. That you won’t leave, that you’re trying to fix things - He probably needs as much reassurance of that as you do. Don’t pressure him to answer, try and give him silence to talk, or think. Be patient. Apologise only if you know what you’ve done wrong, an empty explanation won’t fix anything it’ll just make it seem like you’re making excuses. It will be fine. It’ll help. You love each other. The first word will be the hardest but after that you’ll wonder why you ever worried so much about it. 

These were things Darcy had said to him, hand holding his while they looked up at the sky. His own words had been clogged in his throat, not eased by her skin on his or the welcoming space of the universe above them. Steve had listened, tried to calm himself and the jitters of anxiety caused by even the thought of that conversation. Let her voice, calming and sweet like warm milk, ease his mind. He had planned to talk to Bucky about it the next day. To casually start the conversation, inhabit Darcy’s spirit and let her bravery carry him for a little bit but in the end his own fear had been too much. It was days later, after another ordeal in the gym, both of them sitting at breakfast, Darcy in front of them cooking pancakes, that he’d finally decided to broach the subject. Decided that now, with this wonderful, peace inducing woman there, maybe he could get out the words he needed to.

And then Natasha had come in, dragged her away, and he didn’t know who was more distressed by her departure. The silence in the room as she left was so complete, a fragile layer like melted sugar on a creme brûlée, so easy to pierce. With a cough, or a shift on the stools they sat on, and with Bucky by his side Steve could feel the seconds drifting, could feel his opportunity fleeing because he knew one thing and that was without Darcy here they would not be spending time together again. Bucky moved suddenly, stood up and took his plate to the sink, started cleaning up the kitchen and Steve was frozen, staring at the counter trying to will himself to be braver than he was. His own plate was in front of him and it seemed like only seconds before Bucky was finished, plates cleaned, dried and put away. He looked up to see Bucky looking away, eyes avoiding his like it was a game and he was on the balls of his feet, ready to leave just needed a drawn out silence for permission.

“Can we talk?” It came from Steve, somehow and Bucky met his eyes to nod, moved slowly then all at once to sit back down. Steve’s mouth was dry, full of paper and words and mess that he couldn’t get out. His head was almost spinning and he felt so flustered, pressured by nothing and he was gripping on to what Darcy had said before.

“I- I care about you.” He started and instantly winced at himself. Made another attempt, tried to settle his thoughts in his mind, catch them as they flew and release them instead of keeping them trapped. Steve couldn’t look up at Bucky, had his face down, was feeling something like embarrassed as the next words came out in a rush. “You mean everything to me and when you came back…” Darcy was wrong, she was so wrong when she said it would get easier, this idea that once he started it would trigger a wave, an uncontrollable spill of feeling separate from his body.  The room was silent, his trailed off voice ending and he regretted even starting it. 

 _Fuckin’ do it punk._ The voice came into his head, Bucky from years ago and suddenly he was talking, was reminded in an instant why he was putting them through this. “When I saw you on the helicarrier, it was the best and worst day of my life. I know that I fucked it all up. I know I’ve made mistakes, that I’m not being who you need but I want to change that.” He looked up to see Bucky watching him, slow blinks, face neutral and Steve swallowed.

“I want to fix it, fix us but I don’t know how.” There was a spike of panic in response, some fight or flight and Steve had to carry on speaking or else maybe this would be the end of it all. Maybe this was the opportunity Bucky needed, now he would slide the knife in, take this chance and finish him once and for all. “At the gym. You got so angry, keep gettin’ so angry.” And he finally let himself stop speaking, let his eyes drill into Bucky’s a bit, try to trigger some sort of response instead of this nothing he was getting back. Hoped the unasked question would be enough.

“You’re makin’ stupid mistakes. You’re better than that.” Bucky's voice was almost aggressive, so filled with frustration and anger but Steve didn’t rise to it. He didn’t comment, realised that it might not be about him at all. He said nothing, did nothing and this seemed to unsettle Bucky, wasn’t what he was expecting because he looked away from him, ran a metal thumb across the knuckles of his clenched fist. “It pisses me off, seein’ you do stupid shit.” Steve winced at that, frowned to himself, bit back the arguments, the explanations of his strength, the rest of it. Darcy was right, that wouldn’t help and essentially it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about arguing a way out of it, it was about Bucky and how he was hurting him each time.

“Like that time with the team?” He said quietly and Buck turned to him, body and voice cold.

“Which time?” Steve felt caught, was being held accountable and it wasn’t a feeling he liked. He stopped the nervous twitches that were being born, the compulsive urge to run a hand through his hair, chew on his lip, a hundred small things that suddenly emerged under Bucky’s eyes.

“Where I jumped off the building?” He replied, his mind sent back to being caught fighting by his ma. To mumbling his replies, and his ma had been formidable but she had nothing on Bucky when he said, words like bullets without a shield to stop them -

“Which. Time.” 

Steve had to look away from him then, felt shamed by the pain he’d caused his friend. Finally gave in to an impulse and traced the counter in front of him, imagined for a second he was painting, leaving lines and patterns in bold colours on the surface.

“I don’t mean to. I just don’t think about it.” He spoke quietly and felt Bucky look away from him, compose himself and the fury for a second before replying.

“Think about it. I’m not there to stop you.” Click. It slid into place in Steve’s head and he he was full of energy, suddenly understood what was going on.

“You could be, we could put you on the team.” It was perfect, it all made sense now, everything, all he had to do was get him on missions and-

“No. I can’t” Bucky said, looking all at once defeated and defiant.

“Everyone trusts you now, it wo-“

“No.” Steve frowned, was stopped at the word, wanted to fight it more, explain to him how it could work before he picked up the real meaning. _Listen to me_ , he was saying, and Steve backed off, took away the pressure and replied.

“Ok.” Bucky, who was tense, ready for a fight, ready for more pushing and prodding under Steve’s fingertips, seemed to take a second to understand what he had said. That this was Steve giving him what he needed. Space to breathe, and like some sort of magic it was only a second or two before Bucky himself filled it.

“I wish I could, but I just can’t. Don’t know why, wish I did but I just can’t.” Bucky was looking at him, saying the words like a challenge. Daring Steve to fight with him about it, this hard front but it was like now Steve could see underneath it all. See the thing that looked a lot like fear in his friends eyes. He didn’t understand it, didn’t get why, but he suddenly realised he had to respect it. Realised how far he’d been going wrong by not doing that before.

“Ok.” He nodded too, wanted Bucky to know it really was. His face changed, and now he was watching Steve like he was analysing him. Watching for his reaction as spoke.

“M’not how I was.” 

And this was the conversation they should have had months ago. _Expectations_ , said Darcy’s voice in his head. The careful alignment of what they both wanted and with what they could provide.

“I know that.” Steve replied and Bucky let out a huff of breath through his nose, something that could have been mistaken for a laugh.

“Do you?” He said it with a half smile, like a secret they both shared was being spoken for the first time, a test to see if Steve would be honest or keep pretending. A lump formed in the pit of Steve’s stomach, and he felt translucent, exposed to his friend and so so guilty. 

“I’m tryin’.” He spoke with care and honesty, quiet words to break the failure they both knew he had been. “I know I get it messed up sometimes, but I’m tryin’ so hard to give you space and treat you well and help you.” The noise was a steady rhythm alongside his heart, nervous and quick. “But it’s like everythin’ I do just makes it worse.” None of this was easy, not a single phrase and he hoped that Bucky would carry this on, hated the thought that he could say something and Bucky might just not reply. He felt so damn vulnerable, like so much was hanging on the line even now, minutes into this conversation that was meant to start at the hardest part. He was so dependent on Bucky answering, not letting this thing die out between them and it terrified him.

“Theres’ too much pressure sometimes.” Bucky admitted quietly and Steve translated for him. 

“I put too much pressure on you.” Buck didn’t answer but he didn’t need to. “Like I did just now.” Steve realised aloud, his gut clenching painfully. “Don’t know that I’m doin’ it most the time.” And that didn’t make it better in anyway. It just made him careless, stepping on the ground with giant feet, completely oblivious to the damage he was causing. He needed to explain, to get some sort of reason out, try to let Bucky know that it came from a good place, even if it was selfish.“You’re so different now, and I can’t let go of how you were before when I knew you.” And maybe that would have been enough of an explanation, maybe Bucky would have accepted that but Steve wanted to open up. Wanted to show him more than he was at the moment, and he pushed past that final wall to give Bucky something he’d only recently realised. “Think I’m scared. That unless I keep those parts of you here, that might be it. You might be too different now, won’t want anythin’ to do with me.”

Because that was the truth of it. That his Bucky always had a reason to stay, would always be there with him but Bucky as he was now, what need did he have for Steve? Why would he bother? What was Steve really worth to him except a reminder of who he had been? At least if he tried to keep Bucky familiar to him, then he could pretend that it might all be ok.

Bucky was looking at him in disbelief. Like he’d just told a joke, some off colour blue thing that wasn’t funny but could in no way be mistaken for the truth. His face changed, emotions across it faster than Steve could register, colours and patterns he couldn’t recognise or place. It finally settled, into something like warmth with traces of disbelief. Radiant and unexpected, a look he hadn’t seen for so long. 

“Til the end of the line.” He said quietly, so sincere that Steve felt his lungs squeezed at the bottom, all the air fill the top of him and spill from his lips. “Can’t get rid a’ me that easy.” He smiled at him, wide and warm and broad and it was everything. It was everything Steve could handle, everything he craved and he was reminded once again, what a blessing it was to have this man in his life, to have him back here and with him.

“Yeah.” Steve said lamely, wanted to laugh at himself so big was the ecstasy that gripped him. The smile got wider, eyes crinkled before they dimmed, faded and set their glow somewhere else.

“I’ve been talkin’ to Sam.” Steve batted away the twinge of jealousy, trampled his urge to ask about what or why or a thousand other things.

“Oh.” He said, pretending to be a calmer man, his joy so short lived. 

“Gettin’” Bucky started, mulling over his words. “Gettin’ help.” _Oh,_ Steve thought, finally understanding. Feeling foolish for not realising sooner. “You’ll come along? When I next see him?” He had clearly worked himself up to this, Steve could see it had taken a lot and he couldn’t get his answer out quick enough, honoured and daunted by the prospect.

“Sure. Yeah, course I will.” Bucky nodded in response, tapped his metal hand against the counter, stalled for a second before speaking.

“And, maybe we shouldn’t train together anymore. Makes me stressed and angry and I don’t know how to deal with it.” Steve blinked slowly, was floored by the suggestion, would have fallen to the seat if he wasn’t already sitting on it, wanted to scream because this was his worst fear coming to life. 

“That’s- Yeah if it’s what you want.” How was his voice so calm? So even and unaffected when inside he felt like he was melting. Like he couldn’t stand straight and tall anymore after this blow had hit him.

“It is.” Bucky said firmly and what little happiness was left was squashed. Steve felt all at once terribly depressed. Like all of the talking had been for nothing, like all it had done was finally end the little contact they had. That he would have taken the awkwardness, the uncomfortable silences, long minutes and hours of tension with this man if the other option was nothing at all.

“So we should find somethin’ else to do.” Bucky’s voice cut off his thoughts. Stopped the panic in it’s track and when Steve’s eyes finally focussed on his face, he could have sworn the guy was smirking.

“What?” He said dumbly and Bucky grinned wide then, kind and knowing.

“Somethin’ else for us to do together.” There was a thought that bought red to Steve’s cheeks and he pushed it down, tried to pull up other suggestions. He felt unguarded and like he’d missed a step, overjoyed that Bucky was looking for something but unsure what to say. He ducked his head, rubbing his hair nervously with his palm before one sprung to mind, the table sitting in the corner of the room a perfect candidate.

“You like foosball?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bucky had seen the game before. Seen people gathered around the table, a glass screen showing toy men they could control. If he thought about it too much it worried him, nibbled at a corner of his mind he tried to leave untouched. Stupid, that it could unsettle him but Steve helped that. He settled it by being himself, adorably enthusiastic about spending time with him, teaching him the rules even though he already knew. The game drew them both out, stopped them thinking about the messy conversation they’d just had, the one that they’d needed for far too long but only just started. And he knew it wasn’t over, that they had a lot to sort through, to work on, but for the first time in too long he felt hopeful. Wide eyed like a kid, looking out at _possibilities_ , something better and he wanted to cling to the feeling, protect it, and that game was the perfect thing.

They broke the table quickly. It wasn’t surprising really, given both of their strength and the way they regressed around each other, had managed to tap into their youth, two boys messing about, teasing each other and inevitably making a mess. They lost the first ball when it smashed through the edge of the table, the second when Steve crushed it picking it up. The handles they broke like matchsticks and a leg the same way. It wasn’t deliberate, it was born from a passion, a previously unknown love of this table based sport that caused their previously extreme levels of competitiveness to spike. It was the childhood he couldn’t remember all over again, so familiar to him, teasing Steve while they played, all their old banter coming back so easily. It was instinctive and effortless, and it made the dead air and silences they’d struggled with before seem like a foreign land. 

The table gave up when it lost the second leg, Bucky snapping off another arm and essentially crumpling one end with it. The noise was loud, the game ending and it was a few seconds before Steve spoke.

“I win then.” Bucky narrowed his eyes, glared at his friend.

“No way punk.”

“You just broke the table.” Steve replied, smirk dragging the corner of his mouth up.

“Broke itself, who puts a foosball table in here without makin’ sure it’s structurally sound?” Bucky asked and Steve raised his eyebrows in disbelief, replied in that slow sarcastic way he hadn’t heard for so long-

“Sure, I bet a breeze woulda knocked it over.” They grinned at each other before looking back at the mess, Steve pulled out a splinter that had been imbedded in the wall next to him. “Surprised it lasted as long as it did to be honest.” He said, shooting that smile at him again, cheeky and on the edge of laughter. Bucky’s heart skipped a little, a small bomb in it’s normal schedule and he took a breath before saying reluctantly- “Guess we better clean it up.”

Steve nodded slowly, and they both stared at the mess, each one not wanting to deal with it.

“There’s one in Clint’s apartment.” Steve said casually, and whoever had created the myth that he was innocent had really missed the mark.

“You have a key?” Bucky asked, grin already blossoming and Steve raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“You need one?” 

It was an hour later Clint found them on his couch drinking his beer, another ruined foosball table beside them. And Bucky didn’t even feel shame, just smiled at the man and took a long sip. It had been a good day with a horrible start, but the thing that kept him going was the man by his side.

Because Steve had started looking at him in that same way again, face wide open, lit up. Moved and moving, completely emotional but it couldn’t be tamed with one definition. It wasn’t just happiness, joy or hope, it was everything. All of their years together, every strand of their relationship and somehow it culminated in this, in broad grins and folds around the eyes and it put Bucky completely off balance.

How he could be treated with so much love and care, even after what he’d done. That earlier, during the conversation, Steve had acted like he would be the one to leave. Like Bucky would be able to give up on it, had any right to decide he was better than this man when the opposite was true. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it, to deserve someone who looked at him like that, the same way Darcy did, and with both of them he felt guilty for needing it. For searching for the soft look in their eyes, for the smiles and ease at which they gave him care. Half of him wanted to say, to show them the things that he’d done. Make them finally accept his differences to the person they saw. To understand Buckys’ limitations, the nightmares, the trauma, all of the things he had been gifted in life. But to do that would be to give up on this, and as much as he wanted to be seen as himself, he needed this more.

For now he carried on enjoying the feeling, letting them both watch him and see someone else. For now he let himself be lifted by it, relieved of the weight of who he was. For now he let himself believe he could be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I Til the end of the line’d it, I have no shame it’s a classic for a reason :D  
> Also I hate foosball with a fiery passion but it seemed like the perfect thing to re bond these two giant kids.  
> They're not really fixed at all, but I think like with most things just saying it aloud can help so much. And I see Bucky’s relationship with who he was as kind of mixed. He craves the positive feedback from them, but can’t really accept it because of everything he’s done. 
> 
> Next Time : Darcy comes back and tries not to explode with joy at these two semi-functional guys.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really shitty at replying to comments now a days and I can only apologise for that. I read and love every single one and adore each of you guys for even reading this thing :D I’m gonna try and write the next chapter tomorrow/today and hopefully update next week but no promises :’D

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They had returned to the Tower after three days. Three whole days of being away, Darcy and Nat in various parts of Texas basically wandering around. She’d stopped pretending to Darcy that they were on a mission, but still insisted they stay in far flung places. So they’d walked down streets, through towns, looked in stores and windows, imagined for a little while that they were normal and that Darcy’s feet didn’t burn with every step away from those men. They hadn’t really spoken that much, started developing their own language without words and it would have been nice if she wasn’t desperate to get back. Nat finally took pity on her, or at least received some information that meant they could go back to the tower. Had driven her back to the airport in the same car they’d left in, except this time the silence wasn’t smothering.

It was strange how that one conversation had changed everything. That one decision, to accept her as she was, lifted the burden of having to be angry off of her shoulders. She couldn’t tell if she’d always been like this, or if it was since she’d returned to this world that forgiveness came so easily. 

“Training tomorrow.” Nat had said, pulling up next to the airport, making it clear that she wasn’t getting the flight with her. Darcy reached behind the seat grabbed her carry on bag, pretended like she had asked a question and not given an order when she replied with a smirk.

“Yeah alright.” It felt like a moment where they should say something. Like, if it was a film, this would be some heartfelt speech. A moment of sharing and caring and friendship, some bullshit that wiped away the history they had between them now. 

“Get out then.” Nat said instead and Darcy laughed loud, flipped her the bird. Was thankful, as she walked inside, that she didn’t have to bother with things like _feelings_ with this woman.

She had arrived in New York later, headed to the tower and her room straight away. She dropped her bags, pressed her teeth into her lip nervously before giving in to the impulse and heading to the common room. Hoping those men would be there and she could see if anything had changed at all, or if she was returning to the same mess she’d left. She stayed in the elevator too long, had to stop the doors from closing when she arrived on the floor. Her feet, when they moved, were slow and uncertain. Lazy things that liked to linger in this moment of not-knowing. In this little while where she didn’t have to see the mess they’d made, or marvel at the thing they’d corrected. She finally turned the corner, let her eyes stay on the floor until the last second, lived in that limbo until she was sure she could deal with the worst option. 

Her eyes raised and Darcy stopped dead at imaginary glass. Pressed her face to it, could almost feel the cool pane against her nose. The breath that left her lungs was warm and gentle, small sips taken so as not to disturb the air. It fanned out in front of her, spilled against the imagined window, tickled the edge that blocked it’s way. But she didn’t feel kept out, she didn’t feel separated from the sight in front of her. If anything, this glass was of her own making, a thing to halt her for a minute, let her look and stare at the men just beyond it. Steve and Bucky were sitting on the floor, building something from pieces around them. They weren’t close, but their bodies turned towards each other, like plants towards the sun and she watched their lips, so ready to smile at the slightest provocation. They had talked, this much was clear, and it had gone well because there were bubbles just under her collar bone, streams of them following the lines of her ribs. Small things lifting her up, like air in capped soda, pushing against the lid, pulling her from the ground as she watched them. Darcy got the sudden urge to reach out either side of herself, to grab hands that once hung within holding distance. To say to her guys - See? In some small way I helped this here. I did something good with the terrible mistake I made. Look how happy they are. Look at the joy they have, how it’s better than it was. Tell me, wherever you are, do you feel it too? 

She felt, for that small space of time, certain that they could. That she was almost looking into the time she’d left, seeing her men in front of her happy and whole. Darcy drifted in that space, straddled between worlds, merging the two sets in her mind. Felt rudderless and fearless because this thing that had driven her for months now, it was suddenly fixed.

 

Like a heavy hand on her shoulder she was bought down suddenly. 

_Does this mean I have to go? That I’m not needed any more?_

A matching weight on the other side, knees buckling under it. 

_Does this mean I have to stay? To face them, how familiar they’ve become?_

 

Both options were unbearable. One was inevitable.

 

Steve seemed to notice her then, looked up and said her name. It reached her ears, warped and far away and she bought herself back to reality, let it ring clearly for a second before opening her mouth to reply. But by then Bucky had turned, and like they had been made to take every step by the other’s side, the boys smiled at her in sync. Luminous, rows of white exposed by rounded cheeks. One set of dimples she wanted to run her thumb over, a crinkled nose that deserved as much attention. Her own response, a wide breathy grin was pavlovian. An uncontrollable reaction, the only option that she could take when faced with those men looking at her like that. 

And her feet were already moving, that glass and panic forgotten easily as she walked over to them and their matching smiles.

“Hey. What are you boys up to?” She said, trying to keep some trace of normality in her voice, not just the giddiness that wanted to squeeze it higher.

“Buildin’ a foosball table.” Steve answered, sending a smile Bucky’s way before he bit it down, leant back on his heels. He was surrounded by paint, brushes, metal things he was decorating with care and if it was what they said, she needed more imagination than she had to see it.

“Thought we had a foosball table.” She raised an eyebrow and watched as Steve raised his own back, nodding his head to Buck like he was telling on him.

“Bucky broke it.” The man shot him a glare, narrowed his eyes.

“It was badly made.”

“So _you_ decided to make the next one?” She teased, pushing her lips together as she felt that glare aimed at her, knew if she looked up his own lips, full and pushed out, it would be to difficult to turn away.

“Decided, were forced to. Who could say?” Steve replied, and now he was painting again, holding something small in his hands and picking colours from around him. Bucky picked up the slack, explained with his own hands full and busy that Tony had sent them the kit as ‘punishment’, designed it himself so it was pretty much guaranteed to be complicated.

“Said this one should be strong enough.” 

“Sounds modest for him.” Darcy replied, and she was still standing there, watching them, trying not to stare at the change she was seeing. How they moved in and around each others space, gave room and took it like it hadn’t been impossible just three days ago.

“Might be paraphrasing.” He said, sending her another grin. She had to carry on speaking, didn’t want it to go quiet because then she’d have to leave, and for that second she wasn’t strong enough to go. She watched them and knew suddenly that she would never get enough. Her eyes could never get tired of them together, smiling and happy, it was so addictive, painful and beautiful at the same time. 

“You guys read the instructions?” She got out, watched as Steve rolled his eyes.

“Stark wrote them in Portuguese.”

“So that’s a no?” Teasing them was so easy, all of this was so damn easy and she felt like she was running downhill, straight into barbed wire.

“Who do’ya think we are? Amateurs?” 

“He made Clint translate it.” Bucky smirked and now it was Steve’s time to glare.

“And to say thanks you’re painting the players to look like him?” Darcy asked, pointed to the floor lined with metal players, the two of them in front mini Hawkeyes.

“Not just Clint. All of us.” Steve replied, held up another one to her that she took, cradled in her hands to survey better. There were small brush strokes, tiny changes of hue and movement that gave life to the lump in her hands. It was Nat in miniature, something about her captured and formed into this icon that would be slid along a pole, slotted in among the rest of them in the table to move and hit a ball.

“How is it Natasha’s even scary like this?” She asked, bemused but finding it funny all the same. Something like impressed that Nat could be terrifying even painted.

“How’d it go?” Steve’s question made her look up, and it took her a second to realise what he was asking about. 

“Well I’m not dead so good I guess.” Steve snorted but Bucky still had this look in his eye. A line of tension in his spine, keeping him rigid even in his position on the floor. “We talked, it helped.” She said briefly, aimed that at Buck and even though he raised his eyebrows, showed that the answer was too broad for his liking, he seemed content. Darcy wavered for a second, tried to delay her tongue from asking the question that was already laying on it.

“How did things go with you guys?” Her voice wasn’t anything close to casual and both guys looked up at her before looking away. One set of blue eyes to the floor, the other to the man painting next to him. Pink on Steve’s cheeks, his sudden shyness no less breathtaking than Bucky’s own sincerity. There was a long silence before Buck broke it, amusement in his voice.

“We talked, it helped.” She kept her grin to a normal level, ignored the way her heart fluttered at the words. Wanted to hug them both, actually crossed her arms to stop the touches that were only just being controlled. She had a flash in her mind for a second, the feel of them under her arms, wrapped tight around flesh as her face said warm words into sensitive necks. Darcy blinked and it went, the memory from another time and she decided suddenly she’d dragged out her stay as long as she could.

“Well I’ll leave you guys to it.” 

“No.” The answer was quick, a frown on Bucky’s face, happiness wiped off as cleanly as it had been placed there.

“Stay Darce.” Steve said, and she turned to him, was trying to say with her eyes that she was giving them space, that she wasn’t really needed any more, they’d found their own way.

“I don’t want to interrupt-“

“Not interruptin’” Bucky cut her off, sounded gruff and uncomfortable, shot Steve a look again before suddenly focussing on the materials in his hands. The feelings in her were mixed. She felt like if she stayed any longer she would just do damage. As if any more interaction from now on would undo any good she’d done. But also, there was a low pull in her gut, something that stopped her from making an excuse, removing herself though she knew she should. Something that fixed her feet to the ground more solidly, wanted to stay for minutes longer just to be around _Steve and Bucky_ again. To be around them like this, a small taste of home for a little while, even if she knew it would do no good. Steve spoke quietly, watching her, gauging her reaction, casual but stern with his words.

“You have to stay. How else am I gonna paint you right?” Their eyes locked and it was _him_ asking _her_. Like she was the one who needed convincing. Like Darcy didn’t have enough reasons to be around the two of them. It unsettled her, niggled at something under the skin, itched layers below her clothes and almost made her worried. Made her feel like an anxious mother, had a desire to ask them insistently - Are you two really ok? Is that why you want me here, you need more help?

But they seemed fine, settled in each others company in a way she’d only seen in the other world so the only option was that they wanted her to stay. Actually wanted to spend time with her, and it made alarm bells ring in her head, loud and clear but they were being drowned by her own voice outside it. The one that came out curved around a smile and too quick to be unsure.

“Sure. How can I help?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Each team had a jacket, red and blue, facing off against each other. Copies of each of them in both colours and Bucky was watching Darcy out of the corner of his eye. Watching her get caught, again and again on the figure of herself like an animal passing an unexpected mirror. The figure was fixed to the pole, to the people around her, forced to stay there, body stuck, but two copies. Identical sets of the same person, Steve’s painting skills so impeccable, those jackets were the only way to tell the difference. Darcy had looked away when they slid the figures on, when they locked the sticks in and covered them with glass. She seemed uncomfortable, and Bucky wanted to ask her what she saw there but didn’t have the words. The afternoon had gone quickly, that table complicated enough to keep them all occupied. The panic he’d felt at when she’d got ready to leave had lulled now. He understood it of course, how she found the two of them, especially together, difficult company but he was selfish. 

He was so happy, had been happy for the last few days since they’d talked, and he wanted to share it with her. To show her that it could be easy between the three of them, to fold her up into this little bit of joy, let her relax and enjoy this thing that had undoubtedly been crafted by her hands. So when they stood around that table, the finished thing just there it was easy for him to suggest a tournament. To suggest they invite the others, all the team to come and play even though it would make him uncomfortable. Because if he didn’t she would go, she would leave and find excuses to stay away from them. But if he could keep her around for a little while, make her something like relaxed, or desensitised to both of them like this, then they might not lose her. At his suggestion Steve had turned to him, surprised and like he was going to question but it had a taken one look, a slide of eyes to their companion, for him to see what Bucky did. To agree and send out texts, for him to understand that a bit of discomfort for him would be worth it if it kept Darcy here for a while longer.

What was most surprising was that Bucky enjoyed it, didn’t mind that large group of people. Clint, Tony, Pepper, Jane, Natalia, Sam, the rest. That somehow the three of them worked in sync, saved each other from social anxiety and stress, were so attuned that they would swoop in to get drinks, to provide distraction or another focus point. So that when Bucky was left alone with Natalia, Clint abandoning them for a second, Darcy came over to sit next to him, start up some talk that let him slip away without feeling trapped. It was an understanding between the three of them, something he hadn’t expected, trust so deep that they could cover each others’ weak spots. 

Later, he watched the two of them, Steve coming over to Darcy with a drink, her surprise that he’d thought of her, the way Steve blushed at her thanks. Then, how Steve had seemed serious suddenly, crouched down next to her on the couch, said _thank you_ like she had given him the world. Reached out and touched her hand, squeezed it once, a heartbeat that made her flush. Darcy had been drinking, not much but a little, and maybe that was what made her grip his hand, not let it go for long seconds, kept their eyes locked instead of tracing other things. Bucky had a feeling in his gut, fixing him to the spot, a tension on the top layer of his skin and he waited, held his breath for something to happen between the two of them but of course it didn’t. Darcy turned away, mumbled _your welcome_ with a twisted smile and that was it. Steve went to talk to someone else, Darcy finished her drink and Bucky was left wondering why he felt disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went for this massive walk the other day and ended up thinking about this fic and then, nearly facepalmed, because I was power walking and listening to Adele, and HOW DID I NOT CALL THIS ‘SOMEONE LIKE YOU’?? The more I thought about it, the better the song fit and I feel like such a mug for not doing it at the time because it’s so simple and perfect and just, what an idiot I am. Anyway, I’m trying to plan out the next few chapters so please excuse me if they’re a bit aimless, there is plot coming! It’s just a few away :D I’m not sure if this is gonna get romantic, I might just leave it in that sweet spot for a while longer while I can figure it out (hides).
> 
> Next time: Thor maybe? Darcy dreaming of her boys and perhaps some fluff.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve learnt my lesson and will no longer be saying that I’ll be able to write a chapter quickly, because if anything, it makes me lazier :P You’re comments are beautiful and so good at motivating me when I get stuck on a chapter like I did this time. I actually can’t believe how much I’ve written (over the 60,000 mark now) and I’m so grateful to you guys for reading it and telling me what your ideas for the fic are, it’s so brilliant to read what you guys think of it.

* * *

 

 

 

Thor and Jane were side by side on the couch, her feet tucked under his thigh as they sat together. That was their point of contact to each other, her exposed ankles against his jeans, the delicate bones somehow protected under his muscle. As a couple they didn’t reach for each other often, not even to touch the others’ hair or skin. Jane didn’t seem to have the impulse to brush her thumb against his beard and Thor kept from pressing kisses into her hair as she passed by. Darcy wondered if one of them had had to adapt to this, if Thor had to grow used to less contact or if Jane herself, was the one brought to line in the relationship. She was in Jane’s apartment, meant to be watching a film with them but her attention had been distracted earlier, hours before when Thor had greeted Jane back from the lab. By the way he’d held her wrist almost delicately in his hand, raised it to press his lips on her pulse point, her palm against his cheek for a moment. Her fingers had curved, spread against his skin for a second, and she wondered if time had slowed for them. If when their eyes locked, it had felt like it was only the two of them, a camera focussing and ignoring everything else. It had been so intimate, so personal and Darcy was felt taken back in time, back to when pda was a world away and small moments like that fed her soul. 

Since then she’d been almost fixated on them, didn’t know what had happened to her to trigger this sudden obsession with her friends, but also didn’t seem able to stop herself. She wanted to be in the moment, to enjoy their company and Thor’s presence, such a rare thing now, but instead Darcy was replaying that greeting. It was careful, in a way, by railroading this train of thought, keeping her eyes ahead and focussed on them it didn’t give her a chance to look around. To look at the other ideas and questions created that she couldn’t yet name, didn’t want to give a form to because then she would be trapped, like a fly in honey and inside of her head was not a safe place to be with this topic. 

Darcy had arrived at the apartment, been sent a text by Jane earlier asking if she wanted to join them for dinner and a movie. She hadn’t seen Thor in months, and so when he opened the door to Jane’s apartment, all smiles and hair and hugs, she was so, so happy to see him again.

“Thor!” Darcy held him tight, loved the way that hugged like he was forcing her back to life. 

“Darcy. It is an honour to see you again.” He pulled back, ushered her in before closing the door, asked her with the same intensity he always did - “How are you faring?” He was so sincere, asked like he wanted to know the answer, the good and bad of it and so she weighed it up in her mind before speaking. 

“I’m ok.” She gave him a small smile, watched a small line on his forehead smooth away, realised how lucky she was that he cared like this. “How are you?” 

“I am very well. We have pop tarts stored, many films to watch and more coffee than even I can drink.” Darcy laughed at his enthusiasm, asked if he would be willing to share any with her. 

“Lady Darcy, it would be an honour.” He grinned wide, went to make coffee and pop tarts while she sat. They chatted while he worked, small talk mostly until he bought her a mug over, watched as it settled in her hands with satisfaction. He went to grab some plates of food, turning away from her and Darcy took the chance, bit her lip before speaking.

“Have you heard anything?” She had been building up to it in her head, to asking Thor this thing. Long ago, what seemed like decades now, Darcy had asked Thor to look out for her boys. To see if there was anything that could be done, any way to find them in the sea of starts and worlds that sat parallel to this one. Thor waited until he had placed the food down, stood next to the sofa where she sat before he spoke, looking directly into her eyes.

“Heimdell, he is unable to find them.” 

“Yeah, I figured that.” Darcy replied softly, irritated with herself for thinking otherwise in a brief moment of hope.

“However, he has an idea. With your permission of course.” Her heart caught at the words, stopped and then beat harder. She nodded, tried to concentrate as he spoke. “When you returned you had items from that world? Heimdell believes that with a physical object, he may have some luck at finding them.” Darcy was frozen, stuck to the sofa. Thoughts tumbled around, and she was on autopilot, asking questions so she was doing something other than panicking.

“Would I get them back?” She asked quietly, and Thor answered like she knew he would.

“I’m afraid not.” The chain around her neck felt heavy suddenly, it’s presence never more obvious. Darcy was taking slow breaths through her nose, trying to resist the stupid urge to cry that was pulling on her. “I understand if you would not wish to do it. That it would be challenging to part with those things.” _Those things_ he said, and really that’s all they were. Things. So why did the suggestion feel like it had opened her up. Like it was forcing her to give up something, when she had a choice in this, like everything else. Another decision she had to make, and one she couldn’t really say no to now it had been offered.

“It’ll work?” She asked.

“The chance is slim, but it may.” Darcy nodded instinctively, vaguely, like he’d asked a question and not just given a statement. She couldn’t really speak, knew what he wanted, and those two rings were starting to burn her skin, sear marks into her chest, like they could leave an impression when they got taken away. Some fabric whipped across her mind, like a red flag to a bull and she seized it.

“I have some clothes?” She tried. _Please say yes_ , she thought, couldn’t plead with her eyes because they were staring at the floor. A hand came down on her shoulder, warm and wide as Thor spoke.

“That will be fine.” Darcy closed her eyes tight, let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you.” She said quietly before opening them again. She could feel him moving his head gently from side to side, breeze in tall trees.

“I am sorry I cannot do more.” He said, voice grave and Darcy reached up quickly, turned and hugged him tight, stretched on her tip toes. Shook her head against his shoulder because she didn’t know how to reply. He held her and she had such a moment of helplessness. Anger at how unfair everything was, a blinding light in her head before she shook it out. She pulled back and sat back down, grabbed a pop tart and shoved it in her mouth so she didn’t have to cry. He sat down heavily next to her, took a long drink of coffee before putting her arm round her.

She didn’t hope that it might work, she knew much better than that, but for a half second she imagined what it would be like to see them again. That Heimdell could find a way to them, she could go back through a portal and this time away would be forgiven. And maybe that was why she couldn’t stop replaying Jane and Thor over and over in her head. Because when she saw it, there were three people instead of two. When she saw it, time was stopping for her, she was the one trapped in someone else's eyes, and it was just the three of them once more.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

In the dream Darcy was undefined. She didn’t have edges, curves or shape. No body to hold her back, until a pair of lips, appearing from nowhere, found one to press against. Her skin blossomed under them, lit up at the touch and suddenly that spot was her shoulder. A hand traced the curve of what became her arm, another the arc of her knee. A body to her side, greeted the edges of her palm as it ran across it, created barriers where they didn’t lay before. The two men, similarly lacked shape. She knew them, but not by sight, touch or sound. She knew them by some other sense, in that way that happened in dreams, Bucky and Steve known innately.

There was no light, no sight, just the meeting of flesh against each other. A body curved behind her, bracketing as another hand lifted her chin, raised lips to meet another set. Darcy would have known them by the movements alone. The way Steve always ended each long kiss with another, sweeter one. How Bucky wrapped a hand around her waist, led her like they were dancing. And the way that the two of them waited. Let time drag out before each movement, took long seconds, bodies close together, to be still and wait. Let the joy and gratitude, the lust and want, everything they felt in each others company grow and bloom so that when they finally touched, it said what they couldn’t. 

It took until she woke up to realise the thing she missed the most. Not sex, but that thing that made her reach out in the dark, hands grasping air for something warmer. Intimacy, the two people who knew her well enough. Who would spend their days by her side, not let her wake up alone or without them because they knew how much she hated it. She swallowed down that feeling, that floaty, separate, set adrift in space sensation as she felt her loss again. In her hand was the nurses uniform, bundled up like a childhood toy, crushed beneath her hands as if in her sleep, she could do what Heimdell couldn’t and find them.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

She had handed over the clothes to Thor just before he left. That fabric, a uniform of someone else, folded and placed in his hands and it had felt light. Lighter than it should, considering what it meant to her. As she waited for him to say his goodbyes’ she’d practiced loosening her fingers. Let herself believe that it could be a simple, mechanical thing instead of the loss of something irreplaceable. 

When she went back downstairs Darcy went to the kitchen instinctively. Went to find the two figures that remained here, tried to remind herself what the loss of that outfit might bring back. They were side by side on the sofa, a small distance between them but both facing forward. It jarred in her mind, already thinking of other places, that they weren’t connected in someway. That no palms were slid together, no feet tucked under thighs. That no hand lay resting on a knee, and instead they remained separate. 

She said hi with a wave, watched them shuffle, the two of them, to make space for her in the middle. She stared at the cushion, imagined herself sitting there, holding out her hands and linking the three of them. A thread had been drawn, without her realising it, from Thor and Jane, to the dream, to these two men right here. Her brain gathered thoughts, cultivated similarities and led her right to things she’d been trying to avoid.

“You guys don’t have to hide you know.” Darcy said suddenly, surprising herself and them judging by the looks on their faces. She shifted, was still standing and the carefree smiles they had a second before were replaced with confusion. 

“We’re….not.” Steve said slowly, a smile on his face and he obviously didn’t understand what she meant.

“I just mean…” Darcy started, felt heat on her cheeks because she didn’t know how to explain herself. “Everyone’s cool with it. You can be coupley or whatever. I don’t want you to be different because of me.” This was another reason she should leave them alone. It was strange how things changed when they were being observed. How water took longer to boil, how children resisted stealing cookies. How two men, careful and kind, might limit their actions in order to protect one woman's heart. 

She had a moment to be thankful she hadn’t spoken when they were eating, because Steve surely would have choked. As it was he kind of spluttered, looking first at her with wide eyes, and then to the man next to him quickly before they darted away. 

“We’re not- We’re not like that. We like dames.” He said this like she was wrong. Like she could be wrong about this thing.

“Right. But you like each other too.” It had always been that simple in Darcy’s head. It had helped the boys back then as well, to think of the other as an exception to the rule. That instead of facing the prejudice, the hatred, the ingrained homophobia of that time, they could see their love for the other as a small blip on what they saw as normal attraction to women. It had been difficult for Darcy to see and even more difficult for her to accept. That they grew slowly towards each other, that both of them fought with their beliefs, and everything the world was telling them just to be together when in Darcy’s mind it wasn’t even an issue.

It didn’t seem to comfort these two though. Bucky was still, eyes fixed on her like she was a puzzle he was trying to work out. Steve, for his part, had gotten even redder, had rubbed a hand through his hair, and flustered was a poor description of the state he was in. There was silence and Darcy couldn’t help the confusion on her face as she waited for the moment they would crack. Buck turned finally to look at the man next to him, seemed to be seeking clarification from that man too.

“As friends.” Steve said finally, very firmly avoiding the gaze of the man next to him.

The words dragged, and Darcy got a sudden rush of anxiety. A prickly feeling coursing through her as she realised she’d mis-stepped. That maybe here that’s all they were, but it couldn’t be. She knew them and this she hadn’t gotten confused. They loved each other in every way. Darcy wanted to fight it, to push at this thing, she needed them to see sense, to see how they were but she was fighting with herself. Was uncomfortable because the silence had gone on too long and if someone didn’t speak she was going to without any control.

“Is that all?” 

It was Bucky that spoke, and Darcy watched Steve whip his head round. Turn in surprise at his question. Steve seemed stunned by it, his mouth fell open a little before he said weakly, like he was speaking from a distance.

“We’re friends.” He repeated and Bucky, like him, repeated words of his own.

“Is that all?” And something in his eyes must have shaken Steve because suddenly he was defensive.

“M’not gay.” Steve said harshly, and she’d never seen him like this here. Sharp edged and tense, body all pointy angles like he was that skinny kid again. They stayed staring at each other for the longest time, Bucky watching him, and they both saw the man as he almost crumbled. As his defensiveness gave out and he seemed almost desperate, frustrated, like he wished this whole thing had never started. There was this unspoken thing passed back and forward between them, a history that was unknown to her and Darcy would have run, given them space but she couldn’t move. Steve looked away from the man and down at his hands, had his fists clenched tight in front of him before he spoke quietly. “We just got back to normal.” And this was an admission. It wasn’t - No, I don’t feel the same as you. No, Bucky, you are not the love of my life. No, Darcy you’re wrong, you got this wrong too. It was something else, it was hope but far away, a small light and it was all that Bucky needed.

“We were together in the other world?” He asked this to Darcy, and she was pierced under his eyes.

“Yes.” She said, and Bucky blinked a few times, opened and closed his mouth before asking the next question with a low voice.

“Like _that_?” The meaning was clear and Darcy was reliving a conversation she’d had decades ago with two nearly identical men.

“Yes.” She said softly and Bucky paused before nodding slowly. Twisted back to Steve who was still staring at the floor. For a second she imagined him reaching forward to take his hand, but instead the metal one lay clenched on his thigh.

“Maybe this _is_ normal. Maybe this would be normal for us.” His voice was so intimate, meant for Steve alone and Darcy really needed to leave. To not see this play out, however it did because extra eyes would not make this any easier. Steve was agitated, seemed to have developed movements in his body he couldn’t control, until suddenly they stilled.

“What if it fucks everythin’ up?” Steve said finally, after a long, tense wait and Darcy let out a breath. Was amazed at how she felt on hearing those words. She knew suddenly that they were going to try this thing, that she was here for the birth of _Steve and Bucky_ , and she was pulled back into her body and out of the tv show she’d been watching. Bucky was looking at him, this smile on his face, full of hope and happiness and so much that it made her feel like she was stealing something from Steve, who wasn’t seeing it. 

“It won’t.” Bucky said softly, his voice just the way he used to speak to her, comforting and amused. Darcy moved quietly, had gotten out of their line of sight, not that they could really see her anyway because when Steve looked up at the man, it was clear everything that he saw.

“How d’ya know?” He asked, and she had gotten to the door by then, turned away just as Bucky reached forward, hand on the back of his neck as he bought their heads together. 

Walked out the door before she could hear Bucky’s reply, warm and full of faith.

“Cause Darcy’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not intend to do this whole last section to happen how it did, I just knew I needed the boys to go from ‘friends’ (I mean, really?) to an actual mad in love couple who are being super affectionate and basically forcing Darcy to make hard decisions. Sorry not sorry.  
> Also, I see the Heimdell thing as like a hail mary for Darcy, she's really not holding out hope for it at all, and is kind of trying to clear her mind of it. And I'm not sure on if Heimdell is meant to be able to see all universes or not (I mean, what a tiring job if he can, give the guy a break) but in this one, he can but finding the red string is super hard.  
> Next time: The boys mad and in love (with each other and probably Darcy), Darcy dealing with jealousy and the usual. Maybe a Nat or Sam cameo.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s even a bit fluffy! Your comments are always wonderful, and I hope this ones a bit lighter for the ones who want these three to get their shit together already.

 

Every touch made Steve’s heart drum roll. Heavy, quick beats that bumped against his chest, rattled his bones but in a way that settled him. Like he was being righted, fixed, a kiss at a time. He became a glass, overflowing with water, the happiness he felt around Bucky unlimited now that touching each other was acceptable. It was insane how quickly it felt normal. How it hadn’t taken long for him to reach, hand open and warm, to take Buckys’ in his without even thinking about it. So quickly it had become something like necessary. Something that neither of them couldn’t bear to be without for long. 

 _‘Cause Darcy’s here_ , Bucky had said, and it was hard to describe the comfort that gave Steve. That even in that moment, them taking a risk on this thing when they’d just gotten even footing, Darcy’s name alone was like a blanket. It was like another set of arms around him, reassurance that no matter how much he could mess things up, she’d be there to help them. It calmed his fears, the part that told him it was too soon, that it could ruin things finally, that anyway this was unnatural why would he want to do this to a man, let alone his best friend? But her presence was soothing, not only for that conversation, although she had slipped out halfway through. Days later, she’d walked into the room and teased them about moving away from each other. Drew hands back like the others’ skin was a hot stove, like they’d be caught doing something illicit. She helped, because she made it normal, she made it ok. Her reaction - small smiles and an unconfined warmth towards the two of them, it meant they stopped feeling like they were doing wrong, let their hands and gazes linger until they forgot they were even meant to be ashamed.

It was new to him. He’d known people before, had spent enough time half in love with Peggy Carter and on the USO tour to _know_ people, but with Bucky it was another thing entirely. He was nervous, shy, unsure about mapping this familiar but alien land, but it was still _Bucky_. So however nervous he got, those small flashes of panic as they tumbled on a bed together, all his friend, his boyfriend, his Bucky had to do was smile, or joke, or anything and his mind was eased. That first time they’d kissed, Steve caught Bucky by surprise. It was almost confrontational, Steve had been insistent, his body taken over in the moment because he needed to know suddenly that this part would work right. That Bucky really did feel the same way, this wasn’t some mistake they’d both fallen into, led by Darcy and her talk of another world. It hadn’t been a mistake, not the kiss or the way after, Bucky’s hand had curled around the hair at the back of his neck, held him there for a second longer in this thing they both thought was forbidden. Steve had been surprised that alongside the feeling of joy, that massive, total thing that filled him up, there was something like sorrow. Sadness at the time they wasted believing this could be anything but right.

At first, he’d felt guilty. Like they were rubbing it in Darcy’s face, that even though she’d set them up, given them direction and motivation, she might have done it against her own good. That by giving them this - permission, approval, complete and utter compassion, it would rob her of something. Instead she had almost grown around them. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Darcy so happy, she practically shone around them and she laugh, was a gift that he wasn’t sure they deserved.He tried to thank her, tried to say with words the debt they both owed her but she got uncomfortable, shifted away and so he stopped. Stopped trying to tell her how much they cared for her because she didn’t want to listen. 

So he found other ways instead, ways that she could bear, that maybe she could pretend she didn’t understand the value of if it suited her. He hugged her, not a week after this thing with he and Bucky started, he’d come back from a mission and after he’d greeted Buck - foreheads pressed together for a long moment, he moved on to Darcy. Swept her up suddenly, let her feel his warmth for a second before releasing her, acting as if this was how they’d first met all that time ago. She’d been flushed, her feet set down to earth one at a time and he’d though’t he’d caught a flash of gratitude on her face, but maybe it was just his reflected in her eyes. And that was how, a little at a time, both of them showed her they cared.

Darcy never reached for them. It seemed like she found it unnatural to do what they did - brush aside hair from her face, lead her with a hand on the small of her back. So it was always their doing, them initiating the contact and each time she would stiffen. Each time it was like she warred with herself for a second, fought against something before she relaxed. And her skin seemed to settle, the prickles and sharp texture that had been there just a moment before faded away, became soft, smooth and the warmest thing, until Steve was hard pressed to remove his hand when the time came. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Darcy was happy, painfully so. It was more than she ever imagined, and any bitter thoughts, the waves of loneliness that swamped her, made her vision dark and the light only pinpricks, that passed when one of them took her hand. She didn’t dwell on what it meant, on why they included her in with them when the two of them were more than fine on their own. Darcy just basked in it, in feeling something after so long of second guessing if she was allowed to feel anything at all.

It had started the morning after she’d left them, she’d come into the kitchen for her breakfast, the one that she normally managed to avoid other people in. So of course the two men she was trying to give space to, the two that she felt she needed to mentally prepare herself on seeing, sitting side by side at the counter. 

“Darcy.” Steve had said, and spotting her first and it still stunned her, made her feet stutter in their walking, the smile he gave her each time.

“Mornin’ Darce.” Bucky said, and for a second it was so familiar she had to stop herself kissing them on the cheek as she walked past.

“Morning.” She mumbled instead, kept her head down and her gazes short as she poured herself a coffee, instantly changing her plan from food to getting out of there. 

“Just grabbing coffee to go.” She said pointlessly, not looking to see their reactions, or how close they now sat, how she’d seen Steve pulling back from Bucky as she’d walked in. Her flask filled, she turned and went to go, walking past the counter, a Bucky’s arm laying on it. He’d taken her hand for a second, the metal cold on her wrist before he dropped it, as if he was doing something wrong. It stopped her, finally made her look up at them, two sets of eyes who didn’t seem surprised at an awkwardness she was fighting with.

“Stay for breakfast?” Steve said, and they had always been like that, the versions she knew. Able to talk together, but separately, one picking up the others thoughts like they shared them. _How similar they are_ , she thought for the millionth time.

“I have to work.” Darcy said, and Bucky replied now.

“You have to eat.” There were pastries on the counter, fresh fruit, other things that made her stomach rumble and Darcy put aside the thought that they’d laid it out for her. 

“Thought you’d want some time alone.” She said quietly and the Steve frowned, but Bucky just rolled his eyes, shoved Steve up another stool and led her round so she sat where he’d just been.

“We’ve had plenty of that.” Bucky said, and like that she was between them, let in on something she didn't feel worthy of.

It had grown since then, like the branches of some tree, each touch that passed between the two of them somehow reached her. So strong were the roots of what they had, that it was nothing for them to extend out, engulf her too as if she’d been there all along. Seeing them how she’d known them, laughing and smiling so full of love, it was blinding. Meant that each time they hugged her and she wanted it to last longer, each time their eyes slipped away instead of lingering, she had to stop herself pushing it too far. Reaching first and ruining this careful balance the three of them had.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t you get jealous?” Nat asked when they were having lunch one day. The question had come out of no where, and not for the first time, Darcy wondered if it was her trying to get more information or something else. If maybe for the spy, she asked these questions because she really didn’t know. That maybe all those feelings, all the drama was so far away for her, so far removed from who Natasha was in her bones that she looked at Darcy with a kind of fascination. Saw it as cultural exchange, studying a foreign language in the hopes of better understanding it.

“Of course.” She said softly, thought about the way she used to fit in between the two men. How now, they seemed like a complete unit without anyone else there. They didn’t feel the loss of a third person like a missing limb, they didn’t have trouble sleeping a night without another body bracketing them. Yes they welcomed her, yes smiles grew on faces when she arrived, splashed with light like they were watching fireworks but it wasn’t really the same. Darcy kept reminding herself of the distinction, had to really or what else would she do?

Jealous maybe wasn’t the right word though. She didn’t see herself with them, sharing in what they had here. She saw herself back where she’d left, in a shitty apartment in Brooklyn watching two men navigate the love for each other they’d never been able to act on. It was confusing, these two layered over the two she’d lost, like they always were but day by day it was harder to remember the differences. _And why they matter_ , a part of her said before she squashed it. “I never thought I’d see the two of them together again, Bucky was dead. Bucky is dead, maybe, but here-“ She trailed off, let the words hang before voicing something that was only just occurring to her. “It’s like watching memories I never got to make.” There must have been something in her voice, more than just wistful longing, because Nat asked her a question, always sharp and to the point.

“It hurts?” Darcy blinked once, snapped her eyelids and fought against the sudden tightening in her throat.

“Yeah.” She replied, and Nat asked her firmly, with something that could have been anger if every emotion wasn’t run over ice before it reached her.

“It’s punishment?” 

“No.” Darcy said, hoped she was right about it. “I think it’s a reminder. That they’re not mine.” This was met with silence, and she wouldn’t have wanted anything else. 

“What about Sam?” Natasha asked the question slowly, in almost a drawl, dragging out the syllables as she watched her face.

“What?”

“A date with Sam.” Her eyebrows jumped up, something like a spike of panic at the words. She stared at her, flustered at the thought, a creature deep under her skin turning over.

“For me?”

“Obviously not for them.” Nat replied dryly, smirking a bit.

“No.” Darcy said firmly, knew that this wouldn’t be the end of it. 

“Why not?”

“A hundred reasons.” She was getting irritated now, angry even and wanted this ended. Knew what the assassin was doing, what she always did and hated that the only way she knew to help Darcy was to hurt her a bit at a time.

“It’s been two years since you came back.” It stung, was a small slap, a reminder of who Natasha was. _At least she didn’t say since you left them._

“Nearly two years.” She corrected quietly, and then without real heat - “Don’t be a bitch.” It was quiet, the space where someone else would have apologised and Darcy rolled her eyes to herself. Stole a chip from Natashas’ plate while she watched. 

“Besides, I always feel like Sam’s gonna tell me off.” She said, starting conversation because she knew Nat wouldn’t.

“Why?” Darcy screwed up her face at at the question, replied with something like bitterness, tried to ignore that she sounded like a petulant child.

“He’s a therapist. He’s probably dying to point out my issues. Tell me what I’m doing wrong, how this is unhealthy, how I should leave.”

“Do you think you should?”

“Probably.” Darcy replied, and Nat stayed silent. Didn’t follow it up with another question like - _Why haven’t you then?_ Because they both knew the answer.

“If I was going to leave. If I wanted a new life, another place to work and live, somewhere I could hide for a little while, could you help me?” She asked the question in a rush, didn’t know if she was serious or not.

“I already have some options, if you decided that.” Darcy looked at Nat, felt sudden fondness to this awful, wonderful woman.

“I’m free to go?” She didn’t know where she stood with the people who had watched her, if she was still seen as someone of interest, if she would be forever limited in the paths she could take.

“Yes.” Options, suddenly. A whole world away from the tower and these boys. But her chest, bound and restricted, the way her feet felt like lead suddenly, that didn’t feel like freedom at all. She put her sandwich down, couldn’t eat any more when it tasted like paper. 

“Did you see how they painted me on that foosball table?” Natasha said suddenly, and Darcy looked up in surprise. Not at the words, but that she was trying to distract her. She smiled, and maybe someone else would have blushed but Nat just grabbed a handful of chips. It always confused Darcy that someone who trained so hard could still eat such shit, but it somehow worked out. 

“You don’t like them?” Darcy said finally, playing along.

“I look cute.” The word was said like it was dirty, like cute was something to be pitied, to be embarrassed about. 

“You are cute.” Darcy replied sweetly and was met with a glare.

“I’m the Black Widow.” Her voice was almost a growl, intense and Darcy felt herself still at it. Like an animal pinned for a second before a massive smile appeared on her face and she had to stop herself laughing at the spy.

“With apparently a giant ego I never knew about.” Nat was too graceful to huff but it was a close thing.

“Clint’s not cute.” She said suddenly and Darcy could not believe what was happening. that this thing could bother her when so much else did not.

“That’s because Clint’s _not_ cute.” She replied, but really her heart wasn’t invested in making her feel better when this was so much more entertaining.

“Are you actually insulted?” She asked and Nat didn’t reply. Darcy snorted, shook her head before coming up with a solution.

“Steal them and bring them to my room later. I’ve got some paint, we can add some blood or something.” Green eyes snapped up at her, assessing her suddenly like she was surprised. She didn’t speak for a long moment before she answered with some amusement - “I’ve got more class than that.” 

Darcy raised her eyebrows in mock surprise before asking sincerely- “A catsuit then?” Natasha smiled, brief but there before standing up, putting both their rubbish in a bin as she got ready to go.

“Think about it.” She said, offering her last chip to Darcy.

“What?” She said, confused before taking it. Natasha watched her, levelled her with her eyes.

“Dating.” The word sounded sinister, almost a threat, some foreign thing she couldn’t begin to understand. “Let me know.” The redhead said, before she left Darcy alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love the idea of Natasha getting pissed off because someone did a cute cartoony version of her. Like, that’s one of her weaknesses, being almost disrespected and Darcy gets to see it first hand and finds it hilarious because she’s the scariest person she knows.  
> Next time: Bucky gets a haircut and Darcy finally acknowledging how they all feel.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never cut hair, and will hopefully never inflict that upon anyone so the last scene represents my lack of knowledge. Your comments are adorable and wonderful and thought provoking as always, thank you so much for them. As a thank you, this chapters nearly 5000 words, and most likely riddled with spelling mistakes ;)

* * *

 

“Darcy, hey.” She bumped into Steve in the hallway, his tall frame leaning against the wall. She’d been on her way back from the gym, sweat still cooling on her skin and it said something about how comfortable she was with him that she wasn’t embarrassed about her appearance until later. 

“Hey, what’s up?” She replied, concern slipping out in her voice unbidden. He had no mask around her anymore, no defensive front and so she could see it written in the small creases around his mouth, in how he was obviously hiding in this place not meant to be lingered in, from something he didn’t want to deal with. His smile faded as she asked the question, nose wrinkling as he looked down.

“S’nothin’.” He said.

“It’s Bucky.” She translated, leant against the wall opposite him and watched his face for clues. 

“He needs to get his hair cut.” Steve said finally, somewhere between amusement and frustration and it made Darcy frown.

“Oh, we can get someone in, or find a place-“ She started but Steve was already shaking his head.

“He doesn’t trust anyone.” She wasn’t stupid enough to think it was with the style. It was the scissors, the person, the figure that would have to stand behind him, weapon in hand to do this unessential cosmetic thing. Her Bucky used to love getting his hair cut, saw it as a luxury he could rarely afford, and it sharpened their differences for a second.

“Oh.” She said quietly, hated that this man couldn’t fight whatever was beaten into him to enjoy what was a treat in another world.

“Sam thinks it’d be good for him though. It’s been gettin’ so long, and different look…” He trailed off, left so much unsaid and she wanted to cross the space between them, link her fingers with his and rest her face on the plane of his chest. Speak the rest of her words into it, soothe him by sheer will and if she didn’t already know they’d grown too close that barely controlled instinct was proof.

“I thought he was doing well. That you two were doing well?” She asked quietly, pangs of anxiety through her and his head shot up, reassured her instantly.

“We are. We are Darce, and I wanted to thank you-“

“Steve.” She cut him off with a smile, relief buoying her and he stopped talking, traced her lips for long seconds that she timed with her heartbeats.

“But, anyway. I suggested the haircut to him this mornin’ and it started a fight.” Steve ran a hand through his hair before letting it drop to his sides, the waves he’d formed sticking above his head adorably.

“What’ll fix it?” She said vaguely, eyes still trapped on the golden sea above him, torn with the need to calm it or make it even more turbulent.

“Findin’ someone to cut it who he trusts.” He said, not meaning her, but she heard it anyway. It was part of the problem that she couldn’t stop herself. That any small thing she could do, any way she could make the two of them happier, no matter the cost, she would do it, throw her body willingly into something that would inevitably hurt her.

“I’ll do it.” Darcy said, ignoring whether or not it was a good idea.

“We’ll find someone.” He said gently, giving her an out, an option that maybe if she was smarter, she would have taken.

“I’ll do it, I’ve cut hair before.” She sounded so sure, was so sure in fact that maybe he could sense arguing would be pointless. That she’d made up her mind, was certain and unless he wanted another fight he would have to accept it.

“Thank you.” He said finally, a frown in his voice but hope on his face. “Is the day after next ok?” It almost made her shiver, this plan suddenly given a date, and next a time and regret could have appeared then, small and biting but he was smiling at her, relieved and regret was the furthest thing from her mind.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She said, and as he went to speak she knew exactly what it was to say.

“Tha-“

“Stop thanking me Steve.” She said, exasperated but still smiling at him, that thing so desperate to linger once he’d triggered it. Steve grinned back, bright and shining before it faded slowly and his face gave way to a different look. “What?” She asked, her own smile fading because his eyes had changed, had shifted into a whole other thing. Into two points that gripped her, held her fast and she couldn’t understand what as she was seeing there. 

“Don’t know what we’d do without you.” He said quietly and later, she would think back on how there’d been no hesitation, no conflict in his eyes, just a change, a shift from nothing to _go_. Before she had time to understand what was happening he’d leant forward, crossed that space between them and taken her hand gently. Maybe if she’d known what was coming she’d have pulled back, or moved closer, as it was it was a good thing she didn’t so she never had to make that choice. 

He kissed her cheek and it was an explosion, a shower of sparks that lit up the rest of her body as they fell. She was stunned by it, even more shocked that Steve wasn’t even blushing. That this didn’t make him embarrassed, or flustered, that he wasn’t second guessing himself. That it was done deliberately, with intent, and when he pulled back, letting go of her hand, it suddenly felt unable to support itself on it’s own. He met her eyes, kept eye contact in almost a challenge, not asking anything or saying anything with them, instead reading the emotions that were telegraphed across her face. Her face which was red. Her face which now felt imprinted by the touch of him. Her face, which had not felt anything so sweet in too long.

In this century it meant nothing. It could be friendly, could be a greeting, or a farewell and nothing more. But from where he was from, where they both were from it was more, it was _something_. It was saved for a precious few, and he had to know what he was stirring, what he could cause by doing that dangerous thing. She was overwhelmed, couldn’t get a grip on her own feelings and he obviously saw this, like he always did, and gave her space before she had to ask for it.

“See you doll.” He said softly, and his eyes pinned her until they didn’t, and he was gone.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Two years. Two years since she’d left them. More than two years since she’d last seen them. She didn’t track days like other grieving people did. She didn’t shiver on the 23rd of one month or the 7th of the other, instead she let each day hurt equally. Let the pain from sunrise to sunset maintain itself, a low hum at the base of her spine, able to flare up and cripple her on a whim. It was less now of course, two years was still two years even if you had to see false versions of the men every day. Her and Jane were drinking underneath that start sheet Thor had given her outside the tower. The stars shone above, and the two of them couldn’t look away despite the fact they had lived and breathed those very lights for years. Jane had invited her, practically demanded they spend time together unofficially, on this day that she’d returned to this time.

Wine and spirits and cocktails and more lay around them, a bars’ worth of bottles, ready and waiting for whatever mood the night would take. Darcy didn’t know what Jane expected of her, maybe another meltdown, the kind she’d shown her friend before, but instead she got nothing. She got Darcy as she was now, maybe a little somber but that was hardly unusual. She wasn’t exactly glad she’d called, Darcy would have preferred to be alone to watch shitty tv, do something other than socialise, but it was surprisingly nice. Jane didn’t talk to her for the longest time, just let them sit in silence and enjoy the feeling of all that freedom above.

“Did you ever want to set up something? Somewhere to visit?” Jane said quietly, the words like lightening in the darkness, streaks across her vision as the meaning hit her. That Jane meant a grave, a resting place, somewhere that could be visited, a place to go to to remember and forget when she left.

“They’re not dead.” Darcy replied quickly, reached down and took a long drink before admitting-  “They’re not alive either.” Jane had turned to her, on her side on the lawn chairs they lay on, hands under her head like she was praying. “A grave doesn’t feel right. Not here.” Not in this world, she meant really. She had thought about it often, especially after Peggy had died. Thought of putting some sort of memorial for her guys, one only she knew about, the words set in stone so she had to move on. But she could never imagine what had happened to them. No, that was wrong, she could imagine too much maybe. Her nightmares were filled with possibilities, of them dead, of them alive but it wasn’t something she could drag into the real world. It was like that stupid fucking physics experiment. The cat in the box and the moments before you looked inside, how the fate of the cat could not be said. Had it ever existed, did it still exist alive or dead? Were her boys out there, stuck between living and dead because their timelines no longer crossed with hers. She hated that the whole of their lives could have passed in one of her seconds. That in the time she crossed back, their story ended and that was it. So many days she’d looked up at this sky and felt anger, raw and unavoidable. Been so furious, because she couldn’t even imagine they saw the same stars anymore. “I’m probably never going to have an answer to it, to what happened to them.” She said after a while, hoped that it might be so quiet Jane didn’t hear. That it could be a stray thought, given to the world without expectation of reply. But it had been heard, and Jane couldn’t help but answer.

“Would you want one?” It was the sort of question she expected from Natasha. That woman was always too sharp, dangerously blunt when she wanted to be but Jane was different. Had been warmer, able to hone her own desperate need for information which is why this question took Darcy by surprise. It was so perceptive, so sudden and she fought back the instinct to lie to Jane, had managed so far, to do a good job of being honest this day.

“I don’t know.” She said, and for once it was the truth. She had so many things she needed to know, so many questions but actually, she didn’t know if she could bear the answer. There were some practical ones - Did it actually happen? Did they find their way back to each other? Was Bucky alive? Are they both ok, whatever time it is? Or if not did they die happy and in each others arms?

Then there were the questions that came in the early hours, urgent and insistent and never kind. If they hated her for leaving them. For running, for being stupid and not trying harder. If they’d found someone else, whose face was the same as hers, but without the same flaws that made her recklessly give up on them. If they missed her, if they forgave her, if they spent every day in misery or if her leaving was the best thing that ever happened to them. She didn’t want the test of seeing if she was strong enough for the answers. 

“I don’t know.” She said again and Jane reached for her, took the drink from her weakening grip to replace it with her hand. Darcy turned on the chair, faced her, spooned against the air and watching her friend.

“Maybe Heimdell will find something.” Jane said quietly.

“Maybe.” Darcy agreed blankly. Jane looked away from her eyes for a second, dragged them to the stars and the way she was turned, her eyes shone brighter than anything above them.

“They’d want you to be happy.” It was sudden, could be unrelated if she hadn’t known Jane so long. Didn’t know how her mind worked, what she’d undoubtedly seen in Darcy’s face, in the dilemma that kept her constantly back.

“I know.” Darcy replied after a pause she hoped Jane hadn’t heard.

“Steve and Bucky make you happy.” It was heavy handed, dropped with clumsy fingers waiting for her to pick up.

“They did.” Darcy answered, deliberately misunderstanding. There was a wait, Jane giving her a _look_ before she spoke.

“Steve and Bucky here.”

“They’re not them.” She hadn’t want for her voice to be so cold, so distant but this conversation was making her flustered. It was making that spot on her cheek burn, and she suddenly worried that Jane could see it. That this small thing, that was growing bigger the longer she avoided it, could be seen so clearly.

“You care about them, they care about you.” She made it sound so easy, and maybe everything was when you reduced it to one sentence.

“They’re not them.” Darcy repeated, weaker than before, fear in her voice, hating Jane for caring enough to ask her these things

“They’re that different?” Once she would have said yes instantly. Maybe on another day the answer would have been the same. Right then, she didn’t have the ability to pretend.

“No. Not at all, that’s the problem.” She had whispered it almost to herself. Jane was looking at her with so much love, so much empathy and care and Darcy wondered why she was doing it, why she was pushing when it hurt her too.

“You don’t think you’d be happy with them?” Darcy didn’t answer it, didn’t reply at all because this honesty had gone far enough and the next words she spoke would do damage. _I don’t think I should be_ , is what she would have said to Natasha and so to Jane she said something else entirely.

“I’m gonna cut Bucky’s hair tomorrow.” As distractions went it could have been worse. It was related to the subject at least, a small link that maybe let her get away with it. Why it came out of her mouth she couldn’t say, but it worked in diverting her friend.

“You?” Jane asked, taking another long drink.

“Yup.” Darcy took one herself, wondered if getting drunk would make anything easier.

“You any good at it?” Jane asked, and she stared at Darcy’s hair, looked like she was hunting split ends from a distance and Darcy kept in a sudden, surprising smile.

“Not bad. Better at men’s.”

“You did that before?” Jane asked saying before because she meant that last world she’d lived in.

“Yeah. We never had any money, any of us and the boys used to hate having long hair.”

“You could do mine sometime.” Jane said, and Darcy raised an eyebrow.

“You’d trust me to?”

“Darcy.” She said softly, with a frown and bemused smile. Said more with that word than she could with others.

“You hate hairdressers that much?” Darcy teased, deflected and Jane groaned dramatically, sloshed wine over and out of the glass in one move.

“All the smalltalk.”

“Maybe I’d be just as bad and make you talk about the weather.” Jane suddenly brightened up.

“There actually have been some quite interesting meteorological occurrences lately. For instance over in-“ Darcy lifted the wine to her friends mouth, tried in vain to pour it in and make her stop.

“I take it back, Jane no, please no weather talk.” Jane laughed, spilt wine on her shirt and then on Darcy’s before standing up suddenly.

“Oh, ok.” Darcy said, because Jane was now on her lawn chair, arms flung around her friend, legs laying on top of hers in a position that was probably comfortable for Jane but made Darcy feel like her insides were getting crushed. After a minute it was clear Jane wasn’t going to move, might have in fact fallen asleep and so Darcy relaxed, wrapped her arms properly round her friend and wondered what bought this on. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” Jane said at last, softly into her hair, sounding almost guilty about it. Darcy squeezed her tighter, had to swallow because there were words in her throat she couldn’t force out. A hand held hers tight before releasing, and this was one of the many reasons she loved Jane, because she understood she couldn’t say it back.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

There had been dread sitting in her gut since the morning now. Long and lean and weighing her down, making each movement a trial because of this thing she had to struggle with. She had ignored it all, the kiss, the look, everything Steve had done. It was friendly, he was adapting to this time, the reaction it had triggered, that was her own cross to bear not his because he caused it. He couldn’t know, he didn’t, that boy was smart and careful and kind but in this thing, with Darcy he mis-stepped like they were dancing. That was what she told herself, those were the half formed thoughts she let drift through her head before reality became impossible to ignore.

She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. Not Nat, or Jane or a single person because she felt furious about the whole thing. That was the feeling that settled on the top after everything stopped swirling, anger. She shook aside the thought that Bucky didn't know, because he must, Steve at least was too in love with the man to betray him. But that made it almost worse because it meant Steve had done it deliberately and who was he to do that? To make her feel like that? To look at her afterwards as if she knew, as if there was this great unspoken thing between the two of them, like that kiss was a thing left on the table, an object she was meant to analyse and come to the same conclusion as he already had. She was trapped by it, by all the things it could mean and her anger was a blunt tool to set her free.

Normally, she would have been relieved that it was just Bucky. That it would be the two of them in the room, no-one else because that was deemed best and so she’d only have to juggle one set of misplaced feelings this time. But that kiss, that small mind blowing thing that felt like a betrayal, it had twisted something inside of her and now she felt exposed before she even went in the room. Darcy felt already too seen, or something stupid, and she needed another person between her and Bucky, was afraid that the two men were too similar and she’d have to shield herself from him too.

When she finally went to Bucky, took the things she needed to change his appearance she was at least calmer. Darcy had managed to package all that anger and fear away, and so when she saw him she didn’t feel guilty or sad, she felt nothing. She felt blank, empty and distant and that lasted for a moment before his eyes met hers and she saw how nervous he was. How when he let her into the apartment he shared with Steve, it was with a small hi, quiet and low that she had to strain to hear. He stood unnaturally still, arms at his side but like he was forcing them there, keeping himself from crossing them or curling up. 

“The bathroom?” Darcy asked and Bucky nodded, waited for her to walk ahead of him and she hated that they’d made her so comfortable with them. That she wanted to smooth out the tension from his body, wring out the thing making him like stone until she could move him, mould him and make him _Bucky_ again. He sat down on a chair in the bathroom, moving like he’d been ordered to before taking a breath, forcing himself to relax, de-escalate and let some stress out. 

“I’m surprised you’re letting me do this at all.” She laying out some scissors in front of him, had a towel over his shoulder in the bathroom so he could see her in the mirror while she worked. Bucky was sitting facing a mirror, one of the crazy large ones Stark had in nearly every apartment, twins moving in tandem across from her. Her hands weren’t shaking, they were steady but that was through sheer force of will, a need to make this as easy as possible for him.

“Think Stevie’d done it himself if I put it off any longer, and rather you than me lookin’ like I’d been scalped.” Bucky said with a tight smile, body so incredibly still in that chair. Darcy had arranged to come over after he’d had a shower, wanted his hair already washed and clean and ready. She pretended it was to make it easier for him, and maybe it was, but he wouldn’t have been the only one unsettled by her washing it.

“You could probably still pull it off.” She replied, finally looking up to his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. They crinkled as he smiled, warm folds of skin, his eyes ticking up at the sides, smiling themselves.

“You reckon?” He said, voice like honey and suddenly she was stepping on strings, sliding across time because he could almost have been flirting with her. Darcy looked down, picked up a comb and reached up, started to brush his hair before she remembered she was supposed to ask.

“Is this ok?” The comb was buried in his dark hair, nestled like it’d made a home and he nodded, a short move that she tried to give a smile too. The comb pulled through the rest of the way, a smooth sound and she did the whole of his head, fixated on the lines it made instead of the man in front of her.

“Y’used to cut hair?” He said, as she got the scissors out, telegraphed each movement before starting to cut.

“Worried about my qualifications?” She said lightly with a smirk, tried to ignore how he tensed, how uncomfortable he obviously was because she had to trust he knew himself better than he did.

“Hardly Darce.” He said, eyes smiling at her in the mirror when she caught them, and then she was answering his question anyway.

“Before the war we never had any money so it just kind of made sense.” That was all she was going to say, hoped it would kill this topic before it gained too many legs and ran.  

“Thank you for doing this.” He said quietly and her eyes flicked up, met the reflection of his as she answered around the lump in her throat-“No worries.” 

And then she got to work.

They hadn’t talked about a style, how he wanted his hair done and that would have been a problem if she hadn’t done this dozens of times before. She took her time, soft strands falling around him, black hairs that she cut with shiny snicks. It was like a trance, her hands moving of her own accord, her body relaxed and she vaguely registered the sound of humming. It was coming from her, a tune from before and her body had been moving with it, shifting from side to side. She put her scissors down, ran her hands through his hair, forgetting herself and the world as she worked. Her fingers smoothed out the last of the strands, trailing on the ends of them, until she rested them finally on his shoulders, as if there was no where else she could leave them. Her fingertips pressed into the muscle slightly, felt grounded by the feeling of him underneath her.

Then she looked up, and realised what a mistake this was. _Who am I seeing?_ Darcy thought. Bucky was in front of her, hair crafted like it always was and the modern bathroom jarred behind him. Her breath caught, fear spiking through her and she looked away, removed her hands to hold the scissors once again. Steve was missing from her side, his body smaller but still getting in her way as she tried to work. He was always underfoot, like a cat or something. They were obsessed with getting in her way the two of them, constantly making any job infinitely more difficult, infinitely better. Bucky would have stopped her before now, held her wrist while she worked and pressed her for a kiss, moved his head to the music she was badly singing, made cutting his hair a game she loved too much. So many memories were overlapping now and this was so so stupid. She had known as soon as she said it, known what it would do but she couldn’t say no to them, even when they didn’t ask. And worse, maybe she did this deliberately. Put herself in these situations because she could forget for a few seconds that she was supposed to be heartbroken.

She, very slowly, carried on cutting his hair. Acted as if she hadn’t just fumbled, tripped and fell into the past and quickly changed the style. Modified it so it was more fitting to this day and when she put down the scissors again her hands stayed by her sides.

“You’re all done.” She said, voice a little shaky and her hands were itching, her fingers wanting to move, to smear his hair, to mess it up and make him less like who he was. 

As she moved back she felt a hand grasp her calf. Bucky had reached behind him, palm against her bare skin, a comfort that had come from another man a hundred times. He locked eyes with her in the mirror, and Darcy felt everything move again. The world right itself because for a second she was reunited with her Bucky, he was right there looking back at her with everything she used to see. Devotion, and love and need and it was all she’d wanted for so long. It took her a long moment to realise again who he was, and then to recognise that this Bucky was still looking at her in the same way. Her breath caught in her throat, shock gripping her and she hated that her body responded in kind. That it would never be able to see that face, looking at her like that, and not fall in love. 

She shook her head suddenly, felt tears that were somehow on the edges of her lashes give up and fall. How easy it was, for those flimsy barriers she had put up to drop away completely. How defenceless she was now, unguarded because of one hand on one leg. Darcy moved back and his hand dropped. Her skin chilled, felt bare without his covering it and she resisted the urge to shiver. _What is happening_ , she thought, and it suddenly struck her that maybe this was a two pronged attack. Maybe the boys hadn’t succumbed to the same impulse individually, decided to push her boundaries for no good reason, maybe instead this was planned. 

The room was silent and Darcy couldn’t grab her feelings as they slid all over the place.

“Darcy.” He said quietly, understanding, regretful, who knew what else and she wanted him to stop talking before he’d carried on. “Me and Steve-

“No.” She cut him off, brushed off her hands and found iron will from somewhere. Blinked away the tears to look at him in the mirror, saw two men in that one seat and hated herself for it. There eyes were locked, and he was asking for things she couldn’t give before his flicked away, lit upon a figure who’d just walked into the room, blonde haired and with the same look in his eyes. They both watched his mouth as he asked, voice quiet and measured-

“Can we talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, it was never gonna be a smooth ride but this at least bought some things to a head. I’m not 100% happy with the last scene so I might have to change it a bit, I was trying not to make the whole chapter another cry fest :P  
> I kept on going back and forward on if it should be like a full-on snog, or a peck on the cheek, or even nothing at all but I thought I should get the ball rolling and what better way than these two schmucks double teaming her *cough*. 
> 
> Next time: Steve and Bucky’s POV on all this drama and they all have a very mature conversation.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments have been so sweet and supportive and I am in love with peoples opinions on the kiss and all the rest of it. This whole fic is gonna come to a head in the next few chapters or so (believe me you will know what I mean when you read it) and I'm so thrilled you guys are sticking with it :D  
> Anyways, as usual prepare yourselves because it's gonna get sad.

* * *

 

“Can we talk?”

Steve’s body was in the doorway, turned towards the two of them but facing the mirror like they were. The room was silent, his eyes fixed on her reflection, Bucky’s too and Darcy was ice, cold and frozen to the spot. _No_. She thought, punched the word out into her mind even as her lips remained closed. She did not want to talk. She did not want whatever this was to carry on, to play itself out while they said what they felt they needed to and destroyed her in the process. She needed to be somewhere else, but her body wasn’t obeying and her mind - as quickly as it had sharpened, emptied and she suddenly couldn’t make any decision at all.

Bucky moved, shifting from the chair to stand up slowly and she stared at him, felt the two people he was flicker in front of her and if she wasn’t so numb she might have shut her eyes against the sight. A glance between the two men before they moved, and she followed silently, walking into the living room.

The seats were comfortable, plush things which was hardly surprising since Stark had furnished all of the flats and the boys had obviously not bothered to change it. Darcy was facing the two of them, and in another situation she might not be able to tear her eyes away from their hands, linked and sat between the two of them on the couch, but now it felt oddly like being backed into a corner.

“Me and Bucky, we’ve thought a lot about this.” Steve started, and his voice was low, quiet, warm and perfect, like he was trying to soothe her, not break her heart with these things they shouldn’t say. “You make us so happy.”  He said, and Darcy swallowed, looked away from both of them monitoring her reaction as they took this thing step by step. Darcy needed to leave, she knew that this wasn’t good for her but if she hadn’t been strong enough before, why did she expect better from herself now? She sunk forward slowly, pressed her palms against her eyes, watched the world turn black and covered her face. There was silence, a shuffle and she could picture the boys in front of her, panic at her reaction shifting between them as their plan went off the rails so easily. 

“We think there could be somethin’ more here.” Bucky’s voice this time, and she took a breath, pushed her palms against her eyes so hard she saw spots. _More,_ that was the problem, _more_. That greedy, ugly, selfish, demanding word. How damn easy they made it for her to be unsatisfied when they constantly offered her _more_. How much she wanted, even though she shouldn’t. How much this idea kept her up at night and how, years ago, _more_ had driven her to throw herself off of a bridge.

“We’d like for you to maybe, think about it. The three of us together.” 

 _Think about it_ , Steve said, like she hadn’t already lived that life once. As if this suggestion would be news to her, and not something she saw, every day in varying amounts. She saw it constantly, in the way they took her hand, in the way they made and took space around her, in the kisses, they had until recently, only pressed to each others skin. All of this would be easier if she felt nothing for them. If they weren’t who they were, or maybe if they were other people. Separate, not tainted with who they looked like, not lifted by the person underneath that. Maybe then it would have all worked out, she might have tried a triad again, with two men different enough that she could forget a little bit, live in something like happiness even if it was paper thin.

But they were the same and it would never be easy, or simple, her reasons for wanting them. If it was just based on the faces they shared or everything else and she liked to believe she wasn’t that shallow, wasn’t that blind but there was no doubt she got more stuck the more they seemed the same. Did they realise? Did they care? Were they just trying to re-write the past together? Could that work?

Darcy inwardly flinched at the thought, let out another breath as she shook her head. She heard one of them talk, a low murmur and she’d been quiet too long but Darcy didn’t know how to deal with this, hated being this completely exposed in front of people. But they weren’t really just people were they?

“They’re not the same.” She whispered into her hands, angry at herself and it was barely a brush of her lips but it grounded her, struck her skin like lightening. It rung loudly in her ears, drowned out everything for a moment and shook the skin around her bones.

“Darcy, please talk to us.” Steve said, so concerned and welcoming, and she wanted to cross the space, to curl up between them and let them make her forget why this would be so hard. Her words wouldn’t get out, this storm inside her head wouldn’t be channelled and so when she looked up, saw two perfect, beautiful, concerned faces watching her, she didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to start, when the no she had started with got muddied before it left her lips.

“I like things how they are. Please can we just, can we just leave things how they are?” Her voice was ragged, her mouth pulling on the words at the end, fighting with itself at they left her. Silence again, and she could see the hurt, the pain and maybe another time she would have hated herself. As it was now, it only cut her a little and she could cope with the cold blade when the alternative was much worse.

“Of course Darce.” Steve said quietly, giving her these looks, these quick glances while he schooled his face away from the disappointment he was obviously feeling. Bucky wasn’t looking at her at all, was staring down at the floor, his face completely blank and she really couldn’t cope with seeing them both like this. 

Darcy nodded, tried to pretend she felt relief at his words, and stood up before grabbing her stuff from the bathroom. Her hands weren’t shaking, they were firm and each step she took looked like she was walking on even ground. Inside she felt like she was sliding off a glass plate, like everything had tilted on it’s side and she couldn’t look at them as she left, walked to the elevator and pressed the button to her floor. The doors shut and she was blinking, kept on blinking in equal intervals, tried to keep the tears from falling. Tried to figure out if it was right she could be so upset when she was the one doing harm. If only they hadn’t said it. If only she could have pretended to be ignorant of it all. If only she could have carried on lying to herself then maybe it would have all worked out. She could have moved, left when it got too much without this being aired, and it would have just been another missed opportunity. Another - might-have-been. Not this, rejection for reasons she couldn’t vocalise, sharp and painful for everyone involved.

She hadn’t even explained, hadn’t been strong enough to say any of the things in her head and what a coward she had become. Because she’d finally seen that look she’d wanted all those years ago, finally seen those emotions in their eyes, and all she didn’t know what was worse, being seen as nothing that first time, or being seen as everything now.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The door shut slowly, Darcy disappearing and leaving the room as if she’d never been there. Steve stared at it for a second, imagined he’d said something different and she was still sitting across from them. 

“Fuck.” Steve said softly, eyes wide as he turned to Bucky sitting next to him. “I thought she felt the same.” The man turned to look at him, blue eyes blank before he focussed them and squeezed Steve’s hand. “I can’t believe I said we should try this.” Steve said and Bucky shook his head.

“It’s not your fault Stevie.” He said quietly, voice calm but Steve couldn't believe him.

“M’sorry.” He said, so shaken and Bucky pulled him close, held his face against his chest while they sat there trying to understand what had just happened.

It had been dangerous, to say what they wanted out loud. If Steve hadn’t been taught that before he was that day, because giving a voice to that feeling they both had - this thing that filled them both up, made her presence mean more than food, sunshine or safety - it suddenly meant hoping. It meant admitting something they needed with the knowledge that they might never get it. He would never have done it if he’d known what would have happened. That she’d look at them like they were hurting her, that this thing he’d started could do damage that could be irreparable.

It had been going so well between the three of them, he’d talked to Bucky about it, about the idea of inviting Darcy into what they had, as if she wasn’t there already and there was no hesitation. No doubt, or confusion or anything apart from the way it felt right for the two of them. The way Bucky opened up about how he felt, how he loved her, how he didn’t know hearts expanded to accept more people, limitless in joy. Steve had been so happy to hear it, felt like he was floating just talking to the man about and after that, it would have been impossible to ignore. To try and clue Darcy in that whatever she felt with them, and there was no doubt she felt something, they felt the same. They’d been going, inch by inch, step by step towards something, the three of them. Slowly including her in more and more, trying to show her how much they cared, how much they wanted her and yes Steve was scared, yes, they were both worried about what it could do the relationship but they took the risk, chased this slim chance with open hands and desperate legs, because Darcy was there, and what could go wrong? Every struggle they’d had, every issue, she’d helped them with. She was so kind, so caring, so fantastic, and how so could he be blamed for thinking it would go better? That yes, she would most likely get defensive, yes, she’d need some time to process it, yes, the first talk would be difficult, but there would be more talks. There would be so many more, because she’d taught them both how to work around obstacles, and what was this but one? What were these but obstacles in the way of something they all knew could be incredible?

He never expected the way she’d reacted. That she’d shut herself down, seem to crumble in a way neither of them had witnessed before. That her face, so expressive, so warm towards them would change, and he would suddenly realise how badly he’d misread the situation. Steve suddenly saw it from her view, saw how insensitive, how cruel, how awful it had been and hated himself for getting caught up in her. For forgetting that she wasn’t as strong as she pretended to be, for forgetting the shadows that clung to their backs and thinking this could be a widow he was talking to, and not a woman still seeing ghosts. 

The haircut hadn’t been in the plan. Like most things, there hadn’t been _a plan_ until there was one, and he’d crossed the hallway to press his lips against her cheek. It clicked in his head, a sudden snap where he stepped off of the path he and Bucky had planned, a slow trail where they got her used to the idea, tried to keep it light, but she’d looked at him, been smiling at him and he’d always had trouble staying away from sunshine. It had been stupid, but her face was difficult to read straight after and so he left, told Bucky and hoped that it might just have opened the door a bit. That maybe she was finally putting together what they were trying to tell her.

She had, he’d seen her face when she was cutting Bucky’s hair, seen the wild animal panic as she shot him down when he was trying to talk and how had he gotten it so wrong? Had he just heard the stories she'd told so rarely? Of the men like them before, and fooled himself into thinking she could possibly feel something like that towards them? 

Failure and guilt. Those were the things that stuck to his skin. They draped across him hours later, when he lay with Bucky in bed, both of them too needy, as if it was a sign that they too, could not make it. He had Bucky to his back, felt his arms around him, banded underneath his own and wondered if the man’s mind was whirring just as fast. If he was replaying the day, replaying the moments, looking for what went wrong and how they could fix it. Steve was angry with himself, yes, but underneath it all was sadness. Loss and grief, at what they could have had, at what he most likely ruined trying to find.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bucky knocked on her door just after 2am. He knew her, knew that she wouldn't be sleeping, would probably be watching tv or something but whether or not she would answer the door was another thing. He hadn’t been able to sleep either, finally snuck out when Steve had dropped off, slid his arms from around him as he climbed out of bed. Resisted brushing the hair from his face and the frown from it too because he knew that would wake him. He was at the apartment to talk to her, but not for himself. He loved her, knew this in his chest each time she entered a room, but he had caught something Steve had missed. Some words she’d mumbled into her hands, Steve’s own murmur covering it up but Bucky had heard them like they came from his own head. He needed to talk to her about it, to find a way to work it out, to limit the damage that was done here today even if it meant one of them would be more hurt than the others.

 Darcy answered the door, covered by a massive jumper in some bright pattern, legs covered by pyjamas and her hair was pulled back. Brown strands lifted from her, leaving her bare to his eyes. The eye liner she wore was smudged like she'd been rubbing it and she stared at him for a moment, almost defiant before she stepped aside, motioned for him to sit on the sofa. 

Darcy joined him, the door closing quietly in the room, her tv on but muted and his heart hurt every time he looked at her. There was trauma in her eyes, pulling at the edges, making them pools that looked easily overwhelmed and he didn’t come here to cause her pain but it looked like he already had. Her skin was blue in the light of the tv, alien images flicking across it and he wanted her to look at him, see him straight on so he could recognise her again. 

“I heard what you said.” He started, his voice husky and he tried to soften it, make it appropriate for this time of night and not betray the way he felt. “You said ‘They’re not the same’. You didn’t mean that though. Y’meant I’m not the same.” Darcy froze, whipped her head to look at him, and this obviously wasn’t what she’d expected from him. Her mouth dropped open a bit, eyebrows drawn together and her eyes shone, even in the half-light.

“Bucky.” She said softly, and there was something like horror in her voice. He resisted the urge to look away, tried to go through with what he needed too because it wasn’t for him. He’d realised it as soon as she’d said no, that the reason was him, that he was a liability because the way she looked at Steve was never in doubt, but why would she want anything to do with someone like him? 

“S’ok.” He said quietly, and it almost wasn’t a lie. “I always knew how I changed, that I don’t deserve this…” He trailed off for a moment, ignored the way she was staring at him in shock and grabbed back his thoughts, plowed on with them determined. “But that’s not Steve’s fault. He loves you and if you and hi-“

“Stop, Bucky.” She said after a gasp, rubbed some tears into her skin with a sleeve.

“I understand.” He insisted, “I do.” He did, in fact it had always been a mystery as to how she treated him so evenly before. How she’d acted like he wasn’t a monster, how it had seemed like she might care for him, even though they both knew he’d done so much wrong. That she'd seen how different he was to the other, better man she knew before and yet still been so kind. Maybe that was why it hurt so much now, this confirmation of how he was seen, what he’d done and he felt cut inside. Felt injuries in places he didn’t know could hurt and the next words slipped out without stopping. “You think I’d hurt you?” The words rang out in the room, and he instantly wished he hadn’t asked. Immediately didn’t want to know the answer but Darcy spoke straight away, furious and heartbroken all at once.

“No. Bucky no I don’t.” She was so firm, was almost glaring at him and he was taken back by how fierce she looked, by the raw emotion she gave out before it failed. She suddenly looked close to tears as she spoke quietly, pleading with him. “Bucky you’re not- That’s not why. Fuck. Please don’t think that.” The last words were broken pieces, falling from her lips as she shook her head, seemed to be telling off herself and then her hand was out, reaching for his for the first time, her delicate skin against the metal of his arm. Her fingers slid between his, and she didn’t look at him for a long time, just let her hand sit there laced with his as he tried to understand what was going on. Her lips pursed, eyebrows drawing down suddenly, her whole face twisting against a thought before she spoke. “When I cut your hair I saw him. I saw him in your chair.” 

He was confused for a second, didn’t really get what he meant and then thought about it, about the way he looked, the way he was and how she’d suddenly reacted. 

“You think I’m like him?” Wonder filled him, gave shape to the words and he didn’t know how he could feel so awed and heartbroken at the same time.

“Yes.” She breathed out, nodding and pained by the admission. His own throat was tight, words forcing there way through like it was a maze.

“Even after.” He cleared his throat, felt his hand fingers squeeze hers involuntarily. Found that he suddenly couldn’t meet her eyes either. “Even after everything I’ve done?” 

“Yeah Buck.” She shot him a smile that faded quickly. “You’re like him so much it hurts.” The words made his stomach lead, his body still and he asked quietly-

“We don’t make you happy?” Darcy closed her eyes briefly, and he watched her, waited desperately on the answer. 

“You make me so happy, both of you.” Her voice was so sure, warm even through the tears, and he didn’t understand.

“Then, you don’t want us?” He felt almost ashamed to ask it, but he needed to know. Darcy was quiet and then she spoke in a voice that could only be described as torn.

“Of course I want you. Of course I-“ She cut herself off, seemed like she wanted to draw her hand away but he kept it trapped, selfishly couldn’t be without that bit of contact. It was impossible how she made him feel. How each thing she said, each time he got closer to what the problem was, she let him in a bit more. She showed him the parts she was always keeping hidden, warmed him, thrilled him but also made him feel like the next corner he’d take would lead to a brick wall.

Darcy moved suddenly, leant forward to press her forehead against his arm and he could feel her breath where it surfed down the edge of his t-shirt before it broke against his skin. She was hiding her face from him and he wanted to wrap his arm around her, to lift it up and curl her against his body. To try and ease her pain, show her that they could work through it, that the three of them could work through it and it didn’t have to be this hard.

“It wouldn’t be moving on Bucky.” She said, still hiding her face and at least this way he didn’t have to school his own features. To hide the way his heart stopped for a second. “When I look at you, all I see is them. Or maybe, I do see you and then thats worse, because what sort of person does that make me? That I know you’re not them but I still…” Her words trailed off and the lump in his throat got bigger. She moved back from him, sat up but still kept his hand. “It’s enough that I can be happy here, that I can see you two happy here. I left them. I abandoned them.”

“Darcy you didn’t.” He said, needed to fight against the way she sounded _so fucking_ _sure_.

“I did.”

“You thought it was the only way you’d see Steve again.” He countered and she returned neatly, had thought about this too much to have allow any other option but guilt.

“And I was wrong. Instead I came here, and it’s not fair that I get to be happy after what I did.” Bucky shook his head at her, his jaw was so tight and he needed to relax. He needed to be calm, to think this through instead of letting this feeling, this horrible black pit of sadness he felt whenever she talked like that, swallow him whole. 

“I think this was fate Darce.” He said after a while, after he was calm and the silence had become almost comfortable. “Whatever happened, you jumpin’, fallin’. I think it was fate. I think they needed you before, and thats why you were sent back, because they didn’t have a Darcy back then." He tried to see her face, to judge her reaction before he spoke the next words. "And now, me and Stevie, we need you too. So thats why you’re here.” He’d thought about it so much, couldn’t believe that this woman would go through so much for no good reason. He had to believe in fate, or something, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to live with the things he’d done. He truly believed that Darcy was beyond them. He loved Steve with everything, the man was like a part of him from birth but Darcy was different to either of them. She was someone fundamentally _better_ , and for her to go through this, all of this pain, there had to be a reason. Bucky came back to himself to see her wiping another tear away, her face twisted like she couldn’t decide how she felt and he tried again, needed to give her an out, if she would take it, from the self loathing she carried with her.

“Maybe it was meant to happen, all of this.” She almost flinched at that and he squeezed her hand, held her fingers between his as he spoke, tried to give her another option from the one she already had. “Maybe you don’t have to hate yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, I did plan on adding an extra scene but it was already 4000 words and I even I have limits :P It was never gonna be a cakewalk, but I didn’t actually predict it being as sad as it was so oops for that.
> 
> Next time: Drama (unsurprisingly)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - kidnap, mention of limb removal (but no blood or even gore).  
> My rubbish writer apologies at the end. This ones short (boo) but it is so necessary I got stuck on it for months. There will be so much drama/angst in the next ones you won't know what hit you.

* * *

 

 

 

Bucky woke up late, his arm slung over Steve’s hips, fingers brushing against his skin. He would never be used to the feeling of this man in his arms, and for that he might always be grateful. Steve must have heard his breathing change, tilted his head round to face him, the air between their faces hot as they looked at each other. They watched each other for long moments before he spoke.

“You came back late. How was she?” His voice was barely a whisper, trying to keep volume or emotion out Bucky wasn’t certain, but he smoothed his hand over Steves’ skin anyway in comfort. He hadn’t talked to Steve about visiting her, hadn’t mentioned it and for a moment he was worried he’d be mad. Instead there was just concern, a tight knitting in his eyebrows that Bucky wanted to rub away.

“Still not sure. Better than she was I think.” In all honesty the night didn’t feel clear to him in his mind. After he’d visited her, talked with her, begged her to forgive herself for things she couldn’t help or change he’d stayed for a while. Sat with her in silence, tried to say what he couldn’t by his presence alone. He didn’t know if he’d helped at all, or just bought her confusion to the surface.

“You think she’ll forgive us?” Then, quietly after a pause - “Me?”

“Nothin’ to forgive Stevie.” Bucky replied, that space in his chest pinching again and he leant his head forward, pressed it to the blonde man’s in a brief kiss. “She-“ He paused, mulled over his words carefully before carrying. “‘Think she wants to be with us, but she feels like she’d be betraying them.” He felt the breath that got trapped in Steve’s lungs, how torn he was, and said his next sentence quietly. “She’s got so much guilt.” Steve’s eyes closed at that, eyebrows drawn down in pain as he replied quietly-

“Don’t know if we’re hurting or helping her.” Bucky felt his throat tighten at that, didn’t know what to say at all and so kissed Steve again, brushed his lips and hoped it would be enough. They lay like that for a while, kept in their own heads, but not alone, until a call came through Jarvis, Natalia’s voice clipped and heavy.

“Darcy’s been taken.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy had been walking when she got the email. She hadn’t slept well the night before, had said goodbye to Bucky in the early hours, and barely managed to close her eyes before they sprung open again, daylight too strong to fight against. The tower had felt stifling, the air too thick and heavy with everything that had happened in the last day, and so Darcy left early, snuck out to get some air and stretch her legs, try and stop that conversation spinning in her head. Bucky had been so earnest, so insistent, so convinced that she should forgive herself, wipe clean the mistakes she’d made like dirt on a window, and she didn’t want to think about it anymore. Was tired of warring with herself, of second guessing every choice she made.

And so, when an email arrived she had been walking for half and hour, sliding between people on the busy streets, far away from home and she waited to check it. Let her feet carry her and the message go unseen for longer and longer minutes, until the pressure of what it could be grew too much. It was her care that did her in, that meant she didn’t wait until she was closer to home, heading back to read it. She thought that maybe her absence was noticed, maybe people were worried, or perhaps worse, someone was hurt, someone wanted to get in contact and it was only one message but thoughts like this plagued her constantly. Once she’d moved a little way, her hand brushing up against the pocket she kept the device as it swung, the rest of the distance was covered in a moment.

Had the contents been different, maybe she would have noticed the irregularities - How it came from an email Jane hadn’t used for years, how the style was changed, brusquer than usual, but the words overrode everything else. The ones that sat above an address but below a greeting, urgently written and a hot-wire that blinded her to everything else.

 

_Another portal’s opened, come quick._

 

Darcy was helpless in the face of it, separated from good sense by the way her world tilted on receipt of that sentence. She froze for a short time, and then was moving, was running, was hailing a cab that came unbelievably fast. She was shaking, limbs elongated, breath light in her chest, head dizzy with this thing as she poured the address from her lips into the air and went on her way to a location she could not comprehend. Her phone lost signal as she sat in the back seat, but she didn’t give it a second thought. Could truly not concentrate on anything but time racing by and the possibility that it could all be over as soon as it’d begun. 

The cab stopped, wheels halting and it was then she realised that the address she’d given, the one written and seared into her mind, was not the one she’d arrived at. The door to her left was yanked open and Darcy moved quickly despite her slow brain tripping over the painful realisation. Her hands were ready to lash out, to block, to grab to do whatever they had been trained to do all that time ago but it didn’t matter. Not when the driver was now facing her, a used syringe in his hand, the liquid that it once contained pouring through the wound he’d just made in her neck. The trap that she’d fallen into closed, and she didn’t have a chance to think anything at all before she passed out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sleep was a heavy blanket on her skin, one that smothered and disorientated her. Darcy thrashed against it, twisted her head and body to shake off the weight before she woke up with a desperate breath. The gasp rocked her forwards, before the binds pulled her back, her body smashing into the wall it was tied to. Darcy was sitting down, body tied tight to metal rungs on the floor and she was gagged, a heavy material filing her throat that she had to stop herself gagging around. She was in what looked like an abandoned office building, surrounded by people who were moving, working, heads down and focussed on the tasks they were doing. No one paid her any attention, and not one person - the man to her left typing rapidly, the woman to her right frantically rearranging wires in the back of a machine - seemed to care she was there. They ignored her, universally, and that was maybe what scared her most of all.

“What is this?” She said into the gag pointlessly, her words garbled behind the fabric and it remained unanswered. She twisted her wrists behind her, tried to get some circulation and distract herself form the endless nothing she was getting from the room. She hit herself mentally, once, and then again, pulled on her big girls pants and attempted to think like Natasha.

She had been kidnapped, quickly and efficiently. They had been watching her, to know to take the opportunity she presented them with, catch her unawares and outside the tower on her own. They knew enough about her to know the words that would cut her loose, the words to separate her from good sense and leave her vulnerable. She had been drugged, moved and now left here, tied up , equipment in front of her and people blocking her view. Was it to scare her? Terrify her with indifference? They seemed busy, each person, and there must have been around 15, including a couple of armed guards, each person seemed fixed on a goal. They worked with focus and fluidity, so much concentration, and the planning behind each step they took was sinister. They would not be swayed from what they had planned for her. This wasn’t emotional, they kidnapped her for one reason and Darcy felt terrified of finding it out.

There was tape on her arm. A small bandage, covering her skin where they had what? Taken blood? Sliced and cut into her? Opened her flesh to see what lay underneath? They could have done any number of things while her eyes and mind were blank. She shut that train of thought down, closed it tighter than her eyes and let herself forget it. Flicked her eyes open again and took in other things, distracted herself with evening her breath, slowing her heart rate and most of all being ready for the chance to act. She must be patient, Darcy knew. Patient, calm, and ready. It circled the drain in her head, those three words, a mantra she didn’t stray from. She had no idea how long she’d been there, how long she would be there and so she kept herself in each second with a force of will she’d honed since she’d returned.

Darcy was snapped out if it when people started talking near enough for her to hear. There were two women, a blonde and a brunette, faces tight but that same fever in their eyes that Jane had when she was on the cusp of _science._

“We don’t have long, did you get anything from the bloods?” The first woman asked, her hands quick on the machine she worked on, flitting from piece to piece, double and triple checking.

“Nothing.” The blonde next to her said, mouth tight and she flinched when the other woman slammed her hand down.

“Fuck!” The room went quiet for a second, movement slowing before it carried on with her long breath out. The woman said, with clear, emotionless instruction- “Take her arm.” Darcy went cold, her own breath loose and rapid from her nose, eyes blinking fast as she registered the words.

“Will it be enough?” The blonde said, turning to pick up a wicked blade from behind her. It shone like something divine, and Darcy couldn’t take her eyes off it as they moved closer.

“Won't know till we’ve got it.” They still didn’t look at her, seemed unaffected by her moving, the uncontrollable need to struggle as she started to panic.

“If it doesn’t work? What do we take next?”  

“Whatever we need.” This was said to her face, brown eyes that might have been warm in another situation finally meeting Darcys. Darcy stared at the brunette, felt her hatred bubble out, through her eyes into a world where it had no impact. The woman blinked, turned away, and the blonde moved, grabbed the blade with both hands and got ready to take a limb from her body. 

“Metal.” The blonde said quietly, and her hand reached down suddenly, dropping the blade to grab at Darcys’ necklace. Darcy jerked, moved away and suddenly those rings, _her rings_ , were being held in a monsters’ hand.

“What?” The brunette said, turning back.

“Just wait, get me the file-“ It was in her hand, the rings dropped and bouncing against her bound chest. It was a thick thing and Darcy’s heart was beating wildly as she watched, saw them leafing through pages that must be about her, about them, and she couldn’t work out what was going on. “Look, just look…..here.” They both paused, wide eyed and staring at the sheet.

“The rings she had when she arrived?” The brunette said, something like awe in her voice.

“They could be from this world.” The blonde said, careful and cautious. “But they might not be.” They both stared, the blonde picking them up from her chest again and all Darcy could do was stare.

“Try it, less messy either way.” The brunette said, and then they were ripped away from her. She was screaming behind her gag, words and noise, and nothing at all because it had only taken two of them to keep her head still and slide the chain off, when it should have taken forty. She could not express the pain it caused her. How life left her body when they did. Her last connection to them, stolen for what reason? Why? There would be no reason good enough for them to destroy her this way.

She watched them passed, from one hand to another, and people were swirling, bodies blurring in her eyes as they were pressed down on a table, under a machine that made a noise like a dragon humming.

 _Please_. She thought, _take my arm instead, that I can live without._ _Not that please. Not them_.

The dragon roared, the machine thrummed, and people were standing back, making room for this beast as it lit up and got set to ruin.

A beam hit the pieces of metal, those symbols of another time and for a fraction of a second she almost believed they could withstand it. That they were stronger than anything this world could produce, not just physical things but that the belief she’d poured into them had made them something else. They kept their form for one, two, three seconds and then they melted, crumbled under an intensity they couldn’t bear and Darcy couldn’t even scream anymore, just watch as the rings drooped, curved and liquified. 

 

And then under her wide eyes, from the place her past had just been erased, another portal was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even explain why this has taken me so long to write. The best I can understand it, I fell into a Sherlock and then Hannibal fanfic rabbit hole so had no motivation to write when I was reading such awesome stuff. And then, there was drama and I couldn't bear to write about people in love anymore. Basically bullshit reasons that I don't get, but I'm back now and I will be finishing this in a reasonable amount of time (hopefully before christmas)
> 
> I would not be writing this still if it wasn't for everyone who leaves kudos and bookmarks, and especially the commentors. I am so sorry for not replying, I got so stuck in a funk I couldn't manage to but I read every single one, and often re read them when I'm trying to motivate myself so please know you have the best, most wonderful effect on me and I am forever grateful.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit has finally hit the fan. I think it’s gonna be four more chapters but I’m not so sure. Please strap in for the most angst riddled chapters I have ever written. I can’t believe all those chapters ago I was like - don’t worry guys, it’ll get much fluffier. Those were lies, big fat, unintentional lies and I am so sorry.
> 
> The comments have made me so so happy, I'm so glad to be back to writing and honoured people are still reading this. Since I kept on forgetting to write this before - Totally go wild with this little universe. If you have anything at all you want to write in it, please please do. I'm not sure how the ending is gonna be received because it will definitely divide people, so go for your lives, and write anything and everything you can think of if you want :D

* * *

 

 

 

It was strange how the world narrowed before widening. It would make sense, that to make a connection to another world, some things would have to be broken. That room would need to be made, dimensions torn, space remoulded for a channel that wasn’t there before. In the seconds after her rings melted, nothing happened at all. The machine stopped, the air stilled and all she could smell was metal and salt. Everyone in the room was silent, staring at that spot, tension palpable and it suddenly snapped. The molten metal, clinging indecently to the table, suddenly contracted, became so compressed for a second it could have been invisible, and then it exploded, and the world along with it. 

Darcy was held tight to the wall by the ropes she was bound with, and maybe that was what saved her in the end. There was a great noise, a roar, a thrum that made her own jaw ache, as if it had come from within her, and then there was chaos. The machines that had been around the ring, the laser, the metal, the science they had used to gather data were flung, lifted, torn apart and moved with great purpose. They went through flesh and wall alike, and people were trying to run away, had the luxury of not being tied down, but this explosion sought them out indiscriminately. It lasted longer than it should have, long, long seconds, instead of being over in a flash, and things moved suddenly at different speeds. 

Darcy saw the blonde woman ended by an errant pencil, spun too fast and through her neck in seconds. The brunette, she was moving forward, limping with blood on her leg towards the rings, towards the source whereas the others tried to run. There was a look of such determination on her face, such awe, and for a moment Darcy realised that they might just have wanted the same thing all along. She was pulling at the ropes herself, felt what the woman did, a magnetic pull towards hope and Darcy couldn’t take her eyes off of her. She fell, stood back up, braced against a storm that seemed never to end and the brunette was still moving, each step certain on tumultuous terrain. And then suddenly, she was doubled over. Choked on something, or nothing, the air too thin, or not thin enough and grasped at her throat, claws reaching for something they would not find and Darcy felt her final moments as if they were her own. The woman landed, body limp and light, hand forward, reaching for something she would never touch.

Darcy knew she should be afraid, should be traumatised by the bodies around her, by this freak event she had some how escaped, but there was only one feeling in her chest and it was not sorrow. The floor crumbled in front of her, the rubble vacuumed into thin air, and that long roar finally ended. 

As far as Darcy could work out, still trapped there minutes later, whatever they had tried to do had worked. They had taken her rings on the basis that they came from the other world. They had kidnapped her not because of who she was, what she knew, or anything else, but because her body had been to that place. They were hoping to make another portal. It was deliberate, planned, and the reality of it nearly made Darcy laugh because if they had only told her what they were trying to do she would have given them whatever they needed gladly.

But they hadn’t been prepared for the result. There was an area, designated at the end of the room, one that had machines pointed at it, was the focus of this experiment. They had anticipated more control over this thing they didn’t understand, they hadn’t expected this explosion, the way reality would test and turn and fuck with everything when things like this were created against it’s will. 

There was nothing really to indicate the portals presence except for that creeping up her neck Darcy couldn’t define, the instinct that came across her, animalistic and intense, to break free and fling herself into that space. _I can go back_. The thought was intrusive, blinding and her heart started racing at the truth of it. _I can go back to them_. 

Her throat clenched, air robbed from it temporarily and she was twisting, words falling from her mouth frantically as she tried to get out. A cry of frustration, her eyes prickling as tears bloomed there. Her fists pounded against the wall pointlessly and breath stuttered out of her, a sob breaking free on the end. The ropes stayed as the were, holding her skin tight. The thought that it could close at any second, in front of her very eyes, that she would have to _witness_ the destruction of hope, was torture of the worst kind.

Footsteps, loud and bright, splashes against her eyelids as they shot open, and the team was there. She watched them, in between blinks, as they took control of the room. Tony and Nat came in first, killing those who remained, irregardless of their use as they entered. At one point, Nat was knocked back by one of the security guards, and she stumbled dangerously close to that patch of disappearing space.

“No!” Darcy screamed, and there was a feeling underneath her heart pounding, one that pushed her against the ropes once more. A dangerous jealousy, sudden possessiveness as she warned Nat away from the space. That if she couldn't go through the portal, no one could. “Don’t go there!” Nat shot her a look, saw her and it could have been relief that flashed there before it went. The woman spun, dodged and finally buried her knife into the man knocking a flask off the table in the process. It bounced, once, twice and then it was gone, stolen into the other world and Nat had seen it with her own eyes.

They shot up to Darcy’s and they stared at each other for a second, a whole conversation in looks alone. Worry flashed behind green and she was about to speak when the doors flew open again, Steve and Bucky arriving, torn and bloodied. They found her immediately, were already running over and it interfered with her focus. Because here they were, the two men she was desperately running for, right here. Bucky who didn’t fight anymore, could not fight anymore because of the voices in his head, here for her. Here looking for her, giving up part of himself because he- _no don't think about it_.

“Darcy, I got you.” It was Steve, eyes so blue and worried, jaw set and it shook her, rattled her brain that he was in front of her. Ropes, similar to the kind that held her down had sprung from her skin, wrapped around this man as he appeared, she was trapped suddenly, aimless and stuck.

“Untie me.” She gasped, snatched her eyes away from him, from Bucky hovering behind him and refocussed. Steve cut the ropes, sliced through them cleanly and as he moved, revealing the portal, her own fell away. She shot up but was caught by him when she fell. She was smothered by his skin, engulfed once more and her mind could not cope with it, this wrong man under her hands and how she didn’t want to let go. She sobbed against his chest, a single, uncontrolled noise before she was pushing against him. She ducked her head down, avoided his eyes and arms until she had a clear shot of the portal. It shone, the space where it lay. Slightly brighter than the rest of the air, like a mirage, a shimmer in the air that called to her relentlessly. She darted forwards, reaching with her hands and embracing the utter lack of thought it took.

A flash of red, and Natasha was pinning her arms by her side, holding her firmly as she spoke in the same way.

“No Darcy.” Darcy tried to counter it, kicked at the woman but the spy spun her, twisted her arms and gripped her tighter. 

“Let me go.” She got out, words a growl. Nasty, feral things that made her teeth gnash and her fingernails sharper. If there was flesh to bite she would have found it, and her skin was spiny, hot and sensitive to the touch as she tried to shake the woman off.

“Nat!” Steve shouted, shooting forwards to release Darcy but Nat moved just as quick, ignored the way Bucky now had his knife drawn in confusion.

“Don’t you see where she’s going?” Nat said, spitting words at their feet and they both stopped, stared at her. Darcy could feel their eyes on her face, looking for answers she couldn’t say.

“What is it?” Bucky said, voice low as he stood in front of them, asking Darcy and no one else but she didn’t reply. Nat spoke instead, in an unreadable voice as she held her friend tight.

“A portal. Another portal.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“How did they find her?”

“Have they been watching the tower?”

“Hydra? Someone else?”

The team was talking, Tony, Steve, Clint and Bucky, volleying options, trying to figure it out. Steve and Bucky were to one side of her, had tried to take her hand when she refused to get medical attention and she had clutched her own sleeve instead. Nat was silent, watching Darcy where they sat in a half destroyed conference room just away from the portal. The room was being cordoned off, Bruce and Jane being bought back from the conference they were at just to look at the thing with Tony and each barrier put between her and _them_ was intolerable. Her palms itched, her legs were shaking underneath her and she stared the spy down, hated how any movement in her body was mirrored in the other womans. They started again, talking about who could have planned it and Darcy had to bite her cheek, trap the sudden shout that it didn’t matter. It meant nothing to her who had caused it, who had kidnapped her, what their reasons were because the result was the same. There was now a portal, one that she knew and could see, that would lead to the world she foolishly left. That was all she cared about. Everything else, the why, the how, the two men who made her heart stutter if her eyes accidentally brushed them, it was all irrelevant. Not now she had a way to fix what she’d done.

“Let me go out there.” 

Her voice cut through them, and she met their eyes equally, Tony’s, Clint’s and Natasha’s. Projected calm, focus, reason even though her body, tired, drugged and twitchy, gave her away. They stared at her, Tony frowning before he spoke.

“Darcy, there’s nothing you can do, we don’t have any equipment, nothing you can use even if we knew where to start-“

“I’m going through it.” And this time Tony laughed, genuine and wide before he realised she wasn’t joking. Before he understood and couldn’t find a single thing to laugh about. The quiet was sinister but Darcy didn’t back down, kept her gaze firm until a quiet voice asked, as gentle as a kiss to her cheek - “You wanna what?”

Her eyes met Bucky’s briefly at the question and it stabbed her, through and through before she looked away. Steve reached for her hand again and she crossed her arms, blinked at the table she stared at. 

“You’re not thinking clearly.” Steve said and she ignored that too.

“It could be anything. This could be part of their plan.” Clint now, trying to reason with her but it was wasted.

“I saw it. It came from my rings, the rings they gave me.” Her hand spasmed towards her neck, reached for things she would never touch again and clamped her eyes shut.

“Darce, we need to think about this carefully-“ Bucky now, and he underneath everything else he sounded _terrified_.

“It could close any second.” She interrupted him, didn’t want to hear either of their voices more than she had to. “So just let me go through it.”  The boys stared at her as if she was mad, like it wouldn’t work and she refused to accept it. 

“We’ll get Jane here, she can help.” Steve said and she laughed, bitter and cruel before she replied -  “With the portal or me?”  Darcy looked at him then, anger overflowing, hot and molten over her skin. Every place either of them had touched her was burning, eroding at her strength and she hated them both suddenly before she snatched her eyes away.

“Go. Give us a minute.” Nat said, and then, like the snap of a whip when no one left - “Now.”

They stood slowly, chairs creaking and she ignored the looks, the feeling of two suns being eclipsed as they went and finally lifted her head when they were alone. The spy had pulled up a chair, sat so they were barely a foot away, legs that would brush if either one moved. It felt like an interrogation and Darcy braced herself, prepared for the mental punches that inevitably came in Natasha’s company.

“How is this different from before?” She considered the question, figured if anyone could appreciate the bluntness of her answer it would be Nat.

“Because this time I know there’s a portal.” She held her eyes as she said it, and silence fell between them, but Nat didn’t look surprised. Didn’t seem shocked at this reveal that actually, Darcy had tried to kill herself all that time ago. That she’d stood on the edge of the bridge, praying for people to stop her as she took a leap of faith she didn’t believe in. The spy’s face was unreadable, no sign of what finally hearing this words might have done to her, no recognition of what it cost Darcy to say them. Instead, after a long while, she said calmly and with unwarranted reason-

“So there’s a portal. But you don’t know where, or when it goes to.”  

“It came from my rings.” Darcy replied, and in her head that was all the proof she needed.

"Magic tricks Darcy.” She said, as if it could have been made up. Like it was all some evil plan to make Darcy do this reckless thing. She wanted to laugh in her face, cry with it because really, none of this drama was needed. They could have shown her anything at one point, disappeared a coin by slight of hand and Darcy would have gone gladly. Hope was something she had given up on long ago, and if it was only about her they would have struck well before. “We don’t know how long they’ve been planning this.” Nat said and it was met with nothing. There was noise outside, shouting before it quieted down and Darcy’s head spun, tried to stare through the wall because she recognise the voices. Her heart clenched painfully, and when she turned back Nat was watching her. 

“You’re leaving them again.” Air left her in a breath, and Darcy wanted to double over, grit her teeth to get through the pain that bloomed in her stomach, the sorrow that lapped at her eyes at the thought. She pushed it aside, showed nothing and ignored it once again.

“I’m not. I’m going to them, I’m finding them. I’m finding out what happened.” _I’m finding out what I left, what I did, trying to fix the damage. Making it right, this thing I did wrong._ These were things she didn’t say, but that Nat knew. Maybe she thought that by reminding Darcy what she was leaving, it would make her stay. That the two men here could erase the damage she’d done before but after all this time she surely must have seen that it didn’t work.

“You don’t know that it’ll take you back there. You're not so stupid to think that this is a sure thing. That this time it will work.”

“It will work.” 

“How do you know?”

“I know.” This answer wasn’t good enough for her, Nat looked away then, a break in control Darcy rarely saw as she let out a breath through her nose.

“Maybe they can do some tests.“ She said, and Nat bargaining with her was not something Darcy ever expected.

“It could close any second Nat. Any fucking second.” It was this that kept her going, set her body on fire even as she sat still. Urgency thrummed in her ears, swept away the whole body fatigue she felt from the day she’d been through. It could just disappear, like she did, and she would never get this chance again. The idea of her rings being wasted, this chance not being taken, was unacceptable.

“You’re running.” Nat said and Darcy got the reference, understood that somehow she already knew what had happened between the three of them. It felt like years ago now, that conversation, the way they bared themselves and asked for something they thought she could give.

“I’m running to them Nat. Towards Steve and Bucky.” Darcy thought about it, head twitching towards the wall involuntarily. “My Steve and Bucky.” She corrected.

“And Steve and Bucky here?” Nat asked, and it made her look down at her hands, blink too quickly before she replied.

“They have each other.” She said briskly, the blade sharp and the cut deep where it pierced her.  “I’m going.” Darcy was sure of this. Knew that one way or another, she would be going through that portal. Nat’s hand, the one carefully placed on the table clenched tightly before tapping once, relaxing. Darcy frowned at the gesture, didn’t understand what was going on in the woman’s head until suddenly she did. That this whole conversation, it was sounding her out. At no point had Nat told her she couldn’t. She’d just questioned her, made Darcy analyse her own decision, feel the edges of it until she was satisfied it held firm. 

“This is foolish.” She said, like she was commenting on the weather and Darcy felt relief as she realised this was one less person she’d have to fight.

“It’s love Nat.” Darcy watched the spy’s profile, took this half second to commit it to memory. To be thankful for whatever they had between them that allowed this. She turned back, looked at Darcy with eyes that held too much to describe.

“Exactly.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Darcy seems brutal this chapter but I kind of figured that was how she’d have to react. Feeling so guilty over what happened and finally getting a chance (maybe) to 'correct' it, she wouldn't really have any other instinct than to throw herself at it.
> 
> Next time - All the feels. For every single person who said - but leaving Jane would be awful. You are 100%, absolutely right. Also a conversation with the boys, as if it wasn't gonna be emotional enough.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I would have liked for the ending to be clean, neat and tidy, whatever way this ended up there was always gonna be drama and mess. Here is some of that mess.  
> Fair warning - The fight with Jane is brutal, gird your loins people.

* * *

 

 

 

Maybe if she’d never seen it it would have been different. Maybe if she’d lost those rings some other way, had this final memory of them erased, she could have turned to the boys here. Found something, worked on it, lived her life with them and gotten over the crippling guilt that had festered since she returned. But that hadn’t happened, another portal had opened and whatever independence she once had, strength see things clearly, rationally, it was long gone. In a single day leaving those two men had changed from an undoable mistake to something she could fix.

After her conversation with Nat the others had come back into the room, trailed in, watching her carefully but none of them spoke. It was like she was an animal they were afraid of scaring away. They circled her, and she ignored the looks from Steve and Bucky, as much as she was able to, skin prickling where their gaze touched her.

Sandwiches had arrived, and Darcy ate slowly, as many as she could. She drank the water they bought, tried to plan words in her head, ignored the taste of them on her tongue, bitter and cold. Despaired that out loud they would be so, so much worse.

Tony went to talk a couple of times, mouth opening in impatience and each time he was silenced by the others. They seemed to be waiting for her to start, to speak or to jump up and try and run from the room again. Eventually Clint huffed, picked up a sandwich of his own and started eating.

“So we’re just not gonna talk about it?” Tony said loudly, hands flying up as he looked around the room. “Not gonna talk about how little miss here wants to throw herself into a portal? Like she has any idea where it goes? Or if-“

“Tony.” Clint said but he carried on regardless.

“It might kill her, might not even lead to an earth, might just be empty space.”

“Tony.” Clint again, and from the corner of her eyes she watched Steve tense, jerk his head away from watching her.

“Just because she survived one doesn’t mean-“

“Tony!” Clint stood up then, slapped his hand on the table pitching the room into silence. Darcy bit her lip, swallowed tightly and Bucky was standing too now, resting his hand on Steve’s arm in comfort, or warning who knew. Nat walked in, assessed the room with a gaze and carefully stepped between Tony and Clint.

“Dr.Foster’s arrived.” Nat said casually, before asking Darcy- “In here or out there?” Darcy’s stomach tensed, the food lead as she put her sandwich down.

“In here.” She answered quietly. Her sleeves were crumpled in her palms, body clinging tight to this source of comfort.

“Alone?” Nat asked and Darcy nodded, felt like a child, unable to speak for herself. Was ashamed for not being stronger, for not being able to face all of them, like this now, and talk about the decision she was making.

“I’m not leaving.” Tony said, and he ran a hand through his hair, ruffled it in frustration. Her heart contracted, and he shot her a look, something that was almost pleading before his face got stern. “Whatever she has to say to Jane has to do with the portal, stuff that we all need to know anyway so-“

“Leave the room Stark.” It was Bucky who spoke, and the surprise of it made her look up. He was staring at Tony, face impassive and almost calm but his body language said clearly what he didn’t. That if Tony didn’t go he would _make_ him. There was a crackle between them, a sudden peak in the tension and Darcy was starting to panic, felt hands on her throat at the thought of them fighting, here, now, over her decision.

“Tony, please.” She said and he turned to look at her. “Please.” She said again, quietly, and his eyes flashed with anger before something sadder took it’s place. Darcy knew how he felt, that, before she fell, their relationship was verging dangerously close to true friendship. Something that Tony didn’t have much off, didn’t know how to cultivate and they had lost that when she’d come back. When she’d come back different, broken, just as fucked up as he was. Leaving would give that up, as well as everything else. Another possibility she was saying goodbye too and he didn’t want to even consider she was the kind of person who could give up all that on a slim chance. 

He walked out and the others did, Nat herding them like sheep instead of people and she gave Darcy a look before she shut the door behind her. Opened it just seconds later to let a small, emotional, amazing woman into the room.

“Darcy! You’re ok? I was so worried. I came as soon as they told me you got kidnapped but by then they’d already found you and the portal. We’ll start running tests, see what we can find but you’re ok now, you’ll be ok-“

Jane was talking in a melody, sweet and beautiful to her ears. She was smoothing her hair, holding her tight, hands careful, clinical but still warm. Darcy felt a lump in her throat, a choking feeling, sobs stored in her lungs craving release and she had to distance herself. Loosen the arms around her body, unfold her own and get it together.

“I’m going through the portal.” Blue met brown as she watched her friend, begged her to make this easy even though she had no right too.

“You’re- what?”

“Jane, I have to go.” Her head moved, tilted to a side and one of her hands reached for something absently - a pen to twiddle, equations to write, something to make sense of this new information she was given.

“We don’t know where it goes. Darcy no,” She gave this laugh, a little nervous thing as the creases on her forehead deepened. “No, you can’t.” Darcy swallowed, hardened herself before she replied.

“I’m going Jane.” Jane shook her head, panic flashing on her face as it paled.

“You can’t do this.” 

“I already did it once. I left them first.” 

“No, you didn’t Darcy. You were here first, you left us first.” She said firmly, face still tinged with disbelief. “You had a life before you fell through that portal and a life after you fell back.” Darcy wanted to laugh, had a bitter cry in her throat alongside the words - _you think what I’ve been doing these last few years is living?_

Something must have shown on her face because Jane was moving forwards, concern making her eyelids flutter, her mouth pull to the side before she begged her, urgently.

“Let them go Darcy. Just let them go.” As if it could be done by willing it. Darcy did laugh at that, the sound humourless and too revealing.

“How can I when they’re here every day?”

“Move, leave, don’t do this though. I’ll try harder, I’ll find something, please just stay. Just give us some time. It hasn’t even been a day, think it through.” Darcy let her eyes fall on her friend, on the hair, fallen free from her bun, the bags under her eyes, no doubt in part due to Darcys kidnapping. 

“I’ve been thinking about this for years Jane.” It was true. This was one of a hundred scenarios she’d imagined. One of a thousand ways she’d pictured being able to see them again. Those first few months when she’d come back, when she’d lay in that too big, too cold bed and curled around a wound that would not heal, those fantasies were the only thing that kept her going. It was almost out of her hands, this decision now. Not when she’d really decided years before, heartbroken and alone. Jane sensed this, lips twitching in frustration.

“Thor might find something.” She tried and Darcy discarded it easily.

“He hasn’t so far. We would have heard. If he had any idea how to find them we would have heard.”

“Now that this one’s opened maybe-“ She started, and Darcy didn’t have time to explain to Jane how little hope she had in that.

“If that was Thor through there. If you lost him and then you could get him back. You’re telling me you’d give up on this chance?” Jane shook her head vehemently in response.

“This is different. They’re right here already.” And this argument tore Darcy apart every single time. 

“They’re not. You know it's not the same.” It felt like betraying them to say it again, thinking it was bad enough but it was true. 

“You won’t let it be.” Jane replied, almost vicious. Frustration flowing from her and she stood her ground, held Darcy’s eyes as she watched the words sink in. Watched Darcy’s face as she twisted away, arguments on the tip of her tongue. Darcy opened her mouth to speak and Jane cut her off, was walking round the room as she spoke, deliberately not meeting her eyes now so she didn’t have to face her as she started rambling, almost to herself. “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this. You can’t go. There’s no way.”

Darcy sat down heavily, guilt curling in her stomach because Jane didn’t know she’d already spoken to Natasha. She didn’t tell her it was all already planned. That no matter how this went, no matter who tried to stop her she would not be stopped. She was going. Was gone in mind and spirit, and if she could have she would have disappeared hours before. That realisation made her look down, filled her with shame that she had to shake off.

Jane finally came near her, looked at the wall, arms crossed and foot tapping. Darcy started speaking quietly, trying to explain things she knew Jane would not want to hear.

“I will never move on. I can never move on until I know what happened.” Jane seemed to bite her tongue at that, shot her a glare before unfolding her arms, rubbing her forehead roughly as Darcy had seen her do a thousand times before.

“If somehow, you find them. If it’s not some alien world, some impossible time, a second of life before yours is taken. What if you find them, but they’ve already found you? Found another Darcy?” There was a flash of guilt on her face as she said the words, anger at Darcy that she was making her say these things and not just giving in. 

“Then they found another Darcy.” She said simply, and Jane’s face twisted at the answer, saw the absolute acceptance on Darcy’s face at the words.

“You don’t think they’d want you to be happy? That if they knew you were here, with two men who loved you, they’d want you to stay?”

“I know they would.” Darcy replied quietly.

“Then why are you doing this?” The words came out in a snap, and Darcy watched her friend as her body seems to vibrate. Her arms shook, her feet barely lingering on the ground and she had never seen Jane like this. Never imagined that she could look at her with so much barely controlled anger. What she had expected, Darcy didn’t know. Tears, sadness, the feeling of a bandage being slowly ripped off her arm, taking her flesh with it. Not this. She never thought she’d have to face this from Jane. 

“I left them once. I left both of them. This is a chance -“

“It’s not a chance Darcy, it’s a risk, it’s a death sentence.”

“I feel so guilty all of the time. I have to try.”

“You did try. You came here.”

“And I lost them both.”

“And now you’re going to lose them again.”

“I am not giving up on them Jane!” Darcy almost shouted but Jane was not cowed, was not quieted by this outburst instead it seemed to give her permission to have one of her own.

“It’s not giving up Darcy. It’s accepting they’re dead!” Darcy froze, waited for Jane to apologise but she didn’t. The woman was waiting for apologies of her own, for a change of heart from Darcy and it seemed they would both be waiting in vain. 

“They’re not dead.” Darcy said, her own anger rising, jaw clenched and Jane met her eyes, and spoke. Wounded her as sharply as if she was using a knife when she said -

“Bucky might be, even if you somehow find Steve.” It rang in the air, the echo of scream and it was piercing. “You can turn away from him, the man right here in front of you? Take a chance on nothing?” Darcy felt like this should have come from Natasha, that all of this should have come from Natasha before. She hadn’t know that Jane had claws like these underneath, that she would use them to cling onto her so tightly. Her love for Jane filled her in that moment, made blood pour from each wound she was causing. Darcy knew it cost her friend to say these things. Jane, who loved completely. Who couldn’t watch her friend breakdown without being injured herself. Who had helped Darcy more than she could ever repay her for, and now, she was trying to stop her from leaving. From taking this risk she was sure would lead to death, and she was saying everything she knew Darcy couldn’t hear. She was perversely grateful for love so strong it would try to break her.

“They died there Darcy. And in that world, they left you before you ever left them.” Darcy looked away then, blinked hard as she stared at the wall before she had to shut her eyes. She shook her head to argue, to reply with something but she had no words. She stood up from the chair, gathered herself before she walked forward, wrapped her arms around Jane. The doctor tensed up before she gripped her back, let out a breath into her shoulder and buried her face in her hair. Darcy’s own body was shaking, sobs kept in by will alone, and when she finally spoke, it was low and full of love. Gentle whispers that she knew she wouldn’t want to hear now, but that she would need later.

“Just remember, wherever I am it was my choice.” Jane froze under her and Darcy held her tighter.

“No.” She gasped, hands clutching the back of her shirt. “No, you can’t do this.”

“I love you.” Darcy said, as loud as she could without her voice breaking and Jane was suddenly shifting, furious and free from her arms.

“Darcy. No.” And then she crumbled. “It’s not fair. You can’t. I don’t want you to go.”

“I can’t stay Jane.” She wanted her to understand but didn’t know if she ever could. “As soon as I saw it…” Her voice was wistful, broken and she shook her head, unable to explain how it felt. “You know I can’t stay.” Jane shook her head slowly, face desolate before it hardened, grew angry.

“You’ll die.” Even past all of the fury in her tiny body, the doctor still managed to sound helpless.

“I’m going to find them.” Darcy corrected, but each time she said it it felt harder to grasp. Jane’s gaze was empty and too full, bare and overwhelming.

“You’re giving up on everything?”

“No, I’m not giving up on anything, that’s the point.” It was so final, and Jane must have felt it like Darcy did. Been smothered by the inevitability, by the way they both had to accept that this was going to happen. That this conversation was them saying goodbye to each other, no matter what. It slid through their fingers, the last few seconds, a piece of ribbon, a way for it to end not well, but at least with something less than trauma. Instead Jane’s eyes glistened, her mouth grew tight and she said, bitterly-

“I won’t forgive you if you go.” 

“Jane.” Darcy whispered, betrayed, body cracking at the edges, pain pouring from these self inflicted wounds. 

“No.” Jane snapped, her face ferocious. She was breathing desperately, and when she spoke Darcy didn’t know if it was truly to her, or to herself. “I’m allowed to hate you for this.” Those words hollowed her out. They were a cold metal scoop, scraped through her middle and they left her shivering. Darcy was numb, shocked until she finally pulled herself together, gave a shaky nod, permission her friend didn’t need but she wanted to give anyway. Jane’s face crumbled, broke down completely, arms no longer even trying to reach for her and instead just holding her sides, as if they were all that kept her body together. She left with no goodbye, just turned and Darcy watched her, shoulders shaking as she slipped through the door and disappeared.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

She was still in that conference room. It seemed fitting that every goodbye was said there. That only one space would be tarnished by the blood she was spilling. She didn’t have the strength to do it again. To justify herself, to shield herself. To sit through another conversation and watch people she loved get hurt by a choice she was making. But she owed them this, if she could give them nothing else. She owed them this conversation, these answers that they could cling to in the night. That might comfort them when the shape of each other wouldn’t fill the space she left. 

The boys sat opposite her, but on the same side of the table. Chairs facing hers, the two of them so calm, hands linked on Steves’ lap, and that sight was everything she’d wanted for so long. She let herself look now, with hungry eyes she kept hidden, took in as much as she could in case she never saw it again. Watched those hands tighten minutely, and braced herself, as she had so many times in their company. Made sure she was ready to be as honest as she could without breaking all three of them. When Steve spoke, it was nothing at all like she expected.

“You said to me once ‘Making people love you comes with responsibility’.” He paused at that, blue lights fixed on hers, piercing her. “D’you remember?”

She did, how could she forget? Losing herself to the memory of him so easily, snapping at him when he risked his body once more without care or thought. It felt so long ago now, but the words still stung. The implication was clear, the contrast between what she’d once said, and what she was doing now. She was shamed by it, by her hypocrisy, by her selfishness, by the thousands of cuts her leaving would cause. Most of all how she was going to do it anyway.

“Yes.” She replied quietly, waiting, just waiting for the rest of it. His eyes searched hers and the breath he let out through his nose was frustrated, eyes blinking too fast as he looked away. That was all. Nothing else, and the room fell into silence once again. Darcy shifted, tears gripping to the corners of her eyes and how could this be worse? How was this quiet so much worse than Jane’s anger, or Nat’s interrogation? The weight of what she was choosing to do fell over her body and she had to tense herself against it, squeeze her eyes shut suddenly to take the burden she knew would last the rest of her life.

“You don’t know where it goes doll. No one does.” Bucky spoke quietly, gently, careful with her, even as she was being so careless with them. 

“It came from my rings.” She replied, hand closing by her side and she shook her head, hating herself for what she was going to say next, for using his own words against him. “Fate, Bucky. You said so yourself. What else can it be?” This question was almost desperate, the belief she had so sure. He looked at her then, let the pain he felt truly show, his absolute sorrow forced down her throat and she was choking on it. Darcy grimaced, turned to Steve for relief but just saw more of the same. So much more of the same, the damage she would be inflicting only a terrifying thought at the moment, nothing like the monstrous reality it would become. Darcy quickly wiped under her eye, whisked the tears away as if they had never been.

“You’ll be fine.” Darcy said firmly, trying to console one of the three of them. “You have each other.” And with those words two sets of eyes narrowed. Anger shook the air around Steve, made his teeth shake in his head as he closed his eyes. Guilt lanced her and her eyes danced to Bucky, needed to see his response but he was calm. Was water on the top of the ocean, undisturbed by the monsters in the deep. It eased, Steve relaxed, and she didn’t know why she was trying to provoke a reaction from them. Why she was belittling what they felt for her, scrunching it down like tissue paper that could easily be discarded when she left. Was it for herself or for them? To treat this thing they shared like nothing at all instead of another great loss she was choosing to inflict. Just a day ago she had rejected them, acted like she didn’t feel like they did and now she was doing it again. Chasing ghosts over reality, and how much it must hurt them. They swum in front of her, bodies wavy in the water from her eyes and she had to say it now, get it done with and deal with whatever they were holding back.

“I’m going tomorrow.” 

She expected more of a reaction from them, a flinch or a shake, an outburst of some kind but instead they just watched her. Two sets of blue eyes on her skin, solemn and completely clear before Steve gave an answer, as if she’d given a question.

“Ok.” He said, and Darcy frowned, her head twitching once as she heard the words.

“Ok?” She asked, stunned.

“We’re coming with you.” Darcy blinked once, twice, mouth twisting in shock. She wanted to ask him to repeat himself, but knew she’d heard correctly the first time. Something inside her wailed, made a noise that reverberated through her body, grief and love and emotion ripping through her skin and opening it to the world.

“No. You can’t.” Darcy said, the words flying out, desperate to stop this because they were so, so certain.

“Why not doll?” Bucky said gently and she had so many answers they tumbled from her tongue.

“It’s too dangerous, we don’t know what’s gonna happen on the other side of this, what there could be. It might not even be functional, it could lead to nothing. It’s reckless-“ And Steve cut her off softly.

“How is any of that different than what we’ve all been saying to you?” She shook her head at their words because how could they not understand the difference? How could they even suggest something so stupid, so foolish, throw away their lives because she was willing to risk hers.

“Because I’m choosing to go, it’s my choice.” She snapped at them, strict and angry and the calmness Bucky replied with killed her.

“And it’s ours.”

“No.” Darcy growled out, “No.” Darcy begged. She couldn’t cope with this. That they would risk themselves like this, throw themselves towards this impossible thing for her, out of love for her. It was too much, it couldn’t happen. She was completely overwhelmed in the face of them and so she played her last card, the final thing she had to drive them away for good.

“I’m going to find _them_.” She said, pushed at them with a shove hard enough to break bones but they didn’t falter. Just stayed the same, steadfast and solemn, sincere enough to make her weep.

“We’ll help you.” Those three words, and the depth of the sacrifice they carried. That they would risk themselves, jump into the unknown with her, for her, to find two men they were accepting they couldn’t replace. They would walk with her through anything, to deliver her safely for other people to love. Bucky, who hated the field, but had already entered it that day to find her. Steve, who felt so deeply, who watched her with eyes brimming with emotion, but would take her, safely to someone else if it was what she wanted. They were giving up their home, their friends, maybe even each other, all because they didn’t want her to have to do it alone. It destroyed her, that they would do this. That they would offer this, and that she was the kind of person who could take it. 

“Why?” She whispered and this got them to move, to shift, Steve crouching forward to take her hand, Bucky moving and lifting the hair from her face as they looked at her, seeming disappointed and disbelieving in equal measure.

“You even have to ask?” And she didn’t really, she knew, had known for such a long time now. She had felt their love for her, and she hated that she couldn’t argue. That she didn’t have words strong enough to chase them off, to cut them clean and free and let them live their lives without her. Her body started shaking, sobs wracking it, and she felt helpless, overwhelmed by grief. By the realisation of just what she was giving up. They held her then, the both of them comforting, helping her, keeping her safe and warm and calm when she had no right to take it. In the quiet of the room, between her sobs that shook the three of them, Bucky spoke words she knew she wasn’t worthy of.

“Doll, you think we can forget you, any more than you can forget them?” And the truth in those words finally cracked her in two.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was gonna have Darcy go on her own through the portal and the more I thought about it, the more I thought - there is absolutely no way those two men, who love her so completely, would let her risk her life and not offer theirs with it. Ugh, feelings.
> 
> It genuinely broke my heart to write the conversation between Jane and Darcy. I thought for sure the boys would be worse but I got attached to Jane and now it's biting me in the arse.
> 
> Next time (Hopefully this week): The portal, the drama, and the boys (mainly Steve’s) POV.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update! :D If anyone wants my state of mind for this whole chapter I wrote it listening to Bon Iver’s version of I can’t make you love me, and it is just heartbreaking. I meant to put the portal in here, but then emotions happened and made the chapter balloon so it’s just a cuddle/sad fest.

* * *

 

 

 

They agreed they couldn’t go that night. They would leave the next afternoon, the three of them jump from this world into another and hope they survived. Planning had been a trial the likes of which Steve had never known. So many variables, so many possibilities, but Natasha had been surprisingly eloquent. Had talked them through kit, through procedures, through things she had been planning in her head for what felt like much longer than just that day and Steve caught Darcy looking at her with something between gratitude and worship before she looked away.

They had suggested more time, a week or two, just to try and find out more about the portal and where it might lead ,but Darcy had grimaced, already looked uncomfortable waiting a day let alone more. She was so set, so sure and that she was letting them come along was something they didn’t want to push. 

Tony had behaved as expected. Had tantrummed, had stropped, had generally been of no use for the whole time until he returned to them that evening with gifts. Bags full of weapons that he handed them, watched them take, taught Darcy how to fit and use, the whole time a frenetic energy humming from his skin. He would work the night away, Steve knew, the same as Jane would except she was nowhere to be found. The space she left lingered in the room, her absence most obvious every time someone tried to reason with Darcy and she answered with silence.They were leaving the next evening, another day of planning and prepping ahead of them, and he knew it would both drag and race by.

He hated it, that they were going. The moment he had realised, had really understood that Darcy would be leaving, was willing to do this, it had felt like fabric being torn, a ripping of his skin. They had seen Jane leave the conference room, her face twisted and foreign, so completely broken and for Darcy to do that to her, to _Jane_ , meant she wouldn’t be swayed. He pulled Bucky aside, held the man for a second, letting his hand linger on his arm as their eyes met. Bucky’s face was smooth, almost calm but Steve saw the stress in the ridges between his brows. In his mouth which pulled down slightly and his posture, too perfect to be anything but a defence mechanism. He didn’t need to speak to explain how he felt. That if the tether they had to that woman, that would persist even if she left, severed, it would leave both of them wounded, less than they were. The sheer helplessness of being finally faced with what they knew for so long, that the two of them, here and loving, could not be compared to ghosts she would have to risk her life to find, was nearly unbearable. The thought spun in his head, was reflected in Bucky’s eyes and it broke him and angered him in turn. That they weren’t enough, that they never would be.

When Bucky finally broke the silence, it wasn’t with the words that felt stamped to the inside of their heads, instead it was almost practical.

“We have to go with her.” Bucky’s face was pale, his skin almost sickly and Steve wanted to argue with him but he felt the same. Darcy was capable, amazingly resourceful, much better than both of them in a hundred ways but she could not go without them. Or more precisely, they could not survive if she left.

“You don’t fight anymore.” Steve said, and Bucky’s mouth twitched up, almost a smile in response.

“I broke that rule already once today didn’t I?” Steve shut his eyes, grief a hot pulse before it faded. The man was a statue in front of him and it sent panic through Steve, that what they were both offering, could make Bucky less and less familiar to him. _Are you sure?_ He wanted to ask, but knew the answer. Felt the certainty in himself as well, and so instead held the man, for a minute or two, while he still had the chance.

They both knew the risks, of finding them and of not. Neither one was going into this blind, naive enough to think that it could somehow lead to the three of them together. That it would be simple, or easy. He could see ahead, and it was bleak whatever way it panned out, if they survived or not. But they loved her, and she believed in it so they did too. Despite everything else, the decision could be as simple as that.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Back at the tower, Steve was sat on his own in the lounge. Bucky was showering, washing off the day and Steve was trying to settle himself before bed. It was late when they finished, nearly eleven when they got back to the tower and he was tired in his bones, under his skin even as his brain buzzed in his skull. Darcy had run off, side by side with Natasha before they’d had the chance to say goodnight, and that caused an cut in him he could not heal. 

The knock was quiet on the door, three raps and then silence. Steve’s head turned at the sound and he got up at the shaky breath he heard. He opened the door dressed in jogging bottoms, a hoodie over the top and saw Darcy standing there, shifting as she raised her eyes. His heart contracted and he wanted to reach for her but instead tucked his hands in his pockets.

“Everythin’ ok?” He said, voice quiet as he took her in. Bathed in the sight of her, while she was still there to see. She was wearing a shirt, faded and loose,  pyjama bottoms underneath and her hair was long as it fell from her shoulders. She had her glasses on, pushed up with a thumb as she chewed on her words. She seemed anxious, nervous, unsure and for a brief flash hope was splashed in the corners of his mind. That maybe she’d had a change of heart, she’d decided they were, after all, everything she needed. It faded as he remembered the look in her eyes from earlier. The determination, the certainty, how fearless she was in the face of the unknown. That was not why she was here.

“Can I,” She stopped herself, finally looked at him properly and admitted with a small voice- “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” His hand jumped, a small pulse, as he resisted reaching forward and holding her. Instead he kept calm, and answered evenly, as if this wasn’t something that would cost all three of them.

“‘Course, yeah ‘course.” Steve stepped aside, leant so she could walk round and into the flat. She just stood there for a second in the middle of the room, light bathing her from the ceiling. Her head was tilted down and even from behind a feeling of how lost she looked swept over him. An ache filled him, numbed him and he walked round, quietly shutting the door to stand in front of her, stuck in a space between what he wanted to do and what she’d accept.

She was clinging to her sleeves, hands covered by the fabric, the illusion of safety amongst the churning sea. Her mouth twitched and Darcy frowned as she stared at the ground before suddenly, she stepped forward and raised her arms. Asked for something he had only seen once before, all those months ago in the aftermath of a nightmare. Comfort from him, and he moved instantly. Confined her in his arms and imagined it could be that way forever. She was on her tiptoes, stretched up while he stretched down, cheeks pressed together. He wanted to lift her up, scoop her like he knew he could. Walk to the sofa and cover her in blankets, Bucky and other soft things. Darcy leaned back and he did the same, met her eyes and saw the absolute panic there for a moment. A flash of fear, and then her face twisted and she ducked down, gripped his shirt to press her forehead against his chest, hide somehow this thing he felt too.

“Hey Darce, it’s gonna be ok. We’ll find them, it’ll all be fine.” She was crying now, silent but steady, he could feel the damp on his shirt and he shut his own eyes. Couldn’t bear this pain when he couldn’t fix it. She shook her head against him, and his stomach tightened before his arms did. “It will be.” Steve said, voice rough before turning his head at the sound of footsteps down the hall.

Bucky walked in then, sleep shirt on and if he was surprised by her presence he didn’t show it. Darcy turned to look at him, cheek pressed against Steve and he waited for her to separate, to leave the circle he had made but she didn’t. Instead she lifted a hand out, called to him without words and he took it. Steve watched the way she moved the three of them, slid her arm around Bucky’s waist, made space where there was none so they were all touching, bodies pressed close together. She let out a breath, a shudder that could have been contentment or something else and when he looked at Bucky, his own face pressed next to his, his eyes said the same thing. A twisted feeling, a sharp thing nestled in the softness. Wonder, in a brief pang, if it was _them_ she was imagining after all, even now. Her next words silenced the thought.

“You don’t have to do this. You can stay here, both of you. Together.” Her voice was almost pleading, and he could feel it in between them. Vibrating through his chest, his rib cage, words that sent anger, grief and sorrow straight through him. “Please.” She begged quietly, and Bucky glanced at Steve desperately before looking up, closing his eyes.

How could she think, after everything she’d done for them, after the way they both felt towards her, that they would abandon her now. For better or worse they loved her completely and if she would have them, in any capacity, from now until the end they would be there. 

Bucky finally spoke, seemed to have once again tapped that well of calm he stored.

“If you go Darcy, we go. That’s not up for discussion.” Her body was so tight in their arms, coiled and soldered to be impenetrable, as if she was protected from everything just by being there. She lifted her head up, leaned back so she could look at both of them. They were so close, his whole view swallowed up by their faces, faces that almost blurred and he had wanted for this for so long. To have the both of them in his arms, kept for a little while, right where he could protect them.

“I’m so sorry.” She said on a breath, and Steve couldn’t tell what it was an apology for. 

For leaving? For wanting to? For the way they felt that she couldn’t feel back? So much lay between them that they didn’t talk about. That they couldn’t, because it shattered something every time. His jaw tightened, arms rubbing at her back and Steve swallowed. Shook his head and felt Bucky grip his arm tightly. He didn’t have anything to say to that, couldn’t work out what he would say even if he was capable.  

She looked at him, and her remorse was a physical weight. It pinned him down, held him tight and he couldn’t bear the thought of her hating herself for something else. Bucky moved, pressed a kiss against her hair, gentle and sweet, and she closed her eyes at the words it said that he could not. That they forgave her. That really, they always would. 

Darcy stepped back, suddenly, lowered her arms, and Steve had trouble letting go of her then, even as they stood there. Even as he knew it was only for a minute, that she would still be here, by their side. He couldn’t imagine the strength it would take if they found the others, to say goodbye to her once and for all. Before it had seemed almost abstract to him, the faces they shared. A thing that affected his day, yes, but he never thought that he would be in a position to see, in painful detail, the difference in how she felt, and how devastating that was.

The emptiness it caused, imagining her leaving them, willingly, happily, to go to those two. He had not known pain like it. Even with Bucky, the man he loved and lost, it had been different. It had been one set of pain, his own, that crippled and isolated him. But now if they found them he would feel Bucky’s pain too. The torment of searching, of reaching for a goal she wanted and they feared. The destruction when she finally walked away to the two men she had loved first, and that they would always be second to.

Darcy rubbed at her eyes, wiped the tears off with her sleeve and he resisted the urge to do the same. To let out the pain that gripped his chest, threatened to become a roar if he let it free.

“That’s your room?” She said quietly and he came back to himself, watched as she pointed to the bedroom down the hallway.

“Yeah.” Steve replied, and she nodded, feet shuffling for a second before she changed, straightened her shoulders and walked past them, straight into the room. He blinked at her passing back, felt stunned and warm, swallowed quickly before turning to Bucky. Saw a shadow of a smile on his face before blue eyes traced his own and he stepped forwards. Bucky reached and wiped the sharp edges of Steve’s cheek. It came away wet and Bucky lingered there. Met his gaze, with reflections of pain and Steve felt a surge of love for the man. Reached up and tilted Buckys’ palm, pressed a kiss to the centre of it. It was overwhelming the connection he felt to him, to both of them, and as he dropped his hand it gripped Bucky’s, warm and sure in his. 

She was laying in the middle of the bed, back against the headboard and Steve froze at the door, finally faced with what he’d wanted for so long. Bucky moved, pulled his hand as he walked in front and they slid onto the bed, either side of her. Bucky shifted down, lay his head in her lap as if it was something they did all the time and she moved with a sigh, to thread her hand through his hair. Bucky’s hand was still holding his, crossed over her body, his thumb tracing soothing circles on his skin. Steve felt awkward, the only one out of the three who was unsure until Darcy moved herself, pulled him so he was curved towards her. Spooning her body, arm slid underneath and he tried to settle, to relax, to not feel as if he was doing a poor job of imitating someone else. His head was spinning, overwhelmed, completely filled by all the ways he could not compare. All the ways he had, from the start, disappointed Darcy, as he was then.

She seemed to sense this, like she always had, and her fingers, the ones that weren’t running through silky hair, came up and curved round his cheek. Traced the stubble they found, distracted him from the rapid racing of his heart. She kissed him then, suddenly, lips pressing to his and it seemed to erase those thoughts. Said suddenly - Yes, you are enough. Both of you are enough. This about more than just who you are, who they were. I love you both, I want you both, and I will always be sorry for how this has turned out. 

It was unexpected, brief and also indelible. A point that he was sure, would be fixed on his skin forever. A return to his own kiss, sent what felt like years ago. Emotion welled up, broke the surface of his eyes as he looked at her. Darcy’s own face was desperate as she watched him and she closed her eyes slowly, as if she was pained, and moved forward, pressed her forehead against his collar bone.

Bucky was watching them hungrily, taking in everything he could, and maybe between the two of them, they could remember this forever. It was strange, the atmosphere that had settled. It wasn’t sexual, or even romantic, it was something like pre-empting destruction. Like they were communally wincing for the damage that would later be done, trying to mend it before the bruises had yet formed. That maybe now, in this moment, they could savour this enough to last them forever. He followed the curve of her lips, the swoop of her nose, watched her eyelids, pricked with lashes. When they swung open, like doors in a grand hall, it was to reveal two suns captured there. Her mouth opened, and he watched it, her tongue peeking out for a second before she caught herself, bit her lip and looked away. Seemed to fight her in own mind and watch Bucky instead. 

Her gaze was gentle and open and it felt like she was looking at them as if it could all work out. Like, if this thing hadn’t opened, maybe they would have survived, the three of them. He wanted to ask her what would have happened. If they could have lived the rest of their lives together. Gotten old, retired, done everything he’d never let himself imagine but that he could see so clearly. He was afraid to vocalise it. To know the path she was turning away from, that she was allowing to die, in favour of another one. He swallowed back the tears, and instead moved closer, pulled her so she was against his chest, his legs half tangled with hers, Bucky’s arm round her waist but brushing his skin. 

It was something they’d both dreamt of. Nights like this. The kind Steve wanted thousands of, wanted to be bored with, to be utterly unaffected by. He wanted this to be nothing unusual or spectacular. He longed to come to bed without thought, take for granted that they would be here, ready to hold him. For it to become mundane, this exceptional thing, instead of something that would happen only once in his life. 

Was she giving them something? A taste of the life they could have had? It seemed almost cruel, almost selfish, if he thought her capable of such things. It felt like goodbye, like an end to what could have been. Closure for all three of them and that thought alone made him feel sick. Made his head light and his arms heavy where they held her. His eyes scrunched, and his head fell, pressed lips to her hair in tribute. 

Her hand ran along his forearm, soothing and smooth, a movement that might have been absentminded but for the way her eyes followed. He wondered how it was for her, after so long. To give up on the barriers she’d put up, to give in to them, to holding them, to touching them like he’d seen her hunger for for so long, only now with a definite need to let go. But maybe that was exactly why she could, now.

Despite himself his eyes were drooping, pulled down by the comfort, even with the way he was feeling. He wanted to fight it, to stay awake and aware but every time he thought about the reason why he needed to, it slid a blade between his ribs. That he needed to savour every second, like rations he wouldn’t get again, and the _why_ terrified him.

So instead, he let himself be deluded. Let himself imagine it was just another night with the three of them together. As if this wasn’t a rare, sacred thing. That he could fall asleep to the sound of their breathing, the soft noises of contentment Bucky made. He let himself relax, didn’t have to count the seconds desperately because there would be so many more.

Darcy wriggled and his arms tightened reflexively before she held his wrist, moved Bucky up and round until the three of them were spooning, her body against his chest. She was facing Bucky, and he could see the mans’ eyes over the blanket of her hair, warm and overflowing as they looked at her. Steve watched with tired eyes as she reached up, ran her fingertips over the mans’ face and Bucky closed his eyes as if it was the sun touching him. Let her draw over his skin, wonder clear in the slow way she moved. Bucky smiled, a thing that grew from small to blinding, and kissed her fingers as they passed his lips.

She took in a breath against his chest and he could feel the smile on her face, the way she warmed in his arms. Bucky’s face changed suddenly, torn and melancholy as he spoke softly.

“No Doll, no.” He was wiping tears from her cheeks, brushing them off. His hand stilled, and Steve realised, in that sleep muddied way, that Darcy was kissing Bucky’s own fingertips. A mirror of what he’d just done and Bucky melted, ice cream on hot concrete. 

“Go to sleep.” Bucky said quietly, and Steve had felt her drooping in his arms, exhausted to the core but Darcy shook her head.

“You first.” Her hand was still stroking Steve’s, holding to her tight, as if he needed to be kept, and those words made Bucky smirk.

“No.” He said, voice betraying the promise underneath. “Never.” Her mouth opened and air fell out, gave up clinging to her and there was so much implied in just that one word. Darcy bought him forwards and kissed him once, a press like she’d gifted Steve, and in his half conscious state, he wondered idly if that was all she could bear. His eyes drooped, the world narrowing to the boundaries of his skin, and where it met the ones he loved. To the lull of their quiet breathing, to the gentle words, Steve finally fell asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the portal was meant to be this chapter I swear, but then I got caught up with this scene, and cuddles, and feelings and yeah. It will be next time, cause the chapters already half written, and sorry to anyone who thought they were going to get it on here, but I mean can you imagine? It would be the most depressing, emotional, heartbreaking sex ever and none of us need that shit in our lives. I mean, sometimes yeah, but even I’m not that cruel after the last chapter.
> 
> Next Time : The portal! (I swear). A very small bit of Bucky POV.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you so much for the responses, kudos and every one who reads this. I annoyed it took me so long but I had a sudden tripping feeling of having to get it right and it was pretty scary. The portal scene is finally here, and I’m so sorry for the cliffhanger, but at least theres an answer. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon, but I am unreliable and sorry for that :P

* * *

 

 

 

Bucky woke to a noise, nothing more than a slip of skin against fabric but his eyes sprung open with it. Darcy was moving off of the bed slowly, and with care that betrayed how strong she’d become training with Nat. She’d somehow managed to detach herself from Steve, remove his arms, circumvent his hold until she’d rustled the sheets as one foot hit the bedroom floor. The man could sleep through anything, was in fact, sleeping through Darcy slipping out into the night and Bucky couldn’t help feeling isolated in his spike of fear. His head shot up, shifting, and Darcy froze, body still in a panic that lasted a second before she thawed, walked round the bed to stop him with an arm before he got up.

He swallowed, heart beating erratically, unsure if he should wake Steve, something like instinct telling him he had reason to worry.

“Darce, where you goin’?”  His voice was rough, and his hand had curved around the one on his chest. The one of hers that was lightly keeping him on the bed as they spoke, a caress and a cage all at once. She moved in closer, crouched next to his side and her voice was a lullaby, designed to beckon sleep.

“It’s Jane, I need to talk to her before we go.” There was no falseness in her words and he relaxed at that, calmed his nerves and she softened in response. The hand that was clenched on her bent knee, kept there from reaching out to him, finally uncurled.

“Now?” He asked, feasting in her in this half light. “‘So early.” Darcy blinked once before she looked away, frowned lightly at the ground.

“She text me, I have to try and make sure we’re… That it’s better, at least.” Her hand slid to her pocket almost absentmindedly, the shape of her phone clear there, and that at least answered one question.

“I’ll come with you.” He said, started to move and she shook her head, leaned towards him, as if for a kiss before she stopped herself and spoke.

“No, Nat’s picking me up. I won’t be long.” Those words were emotionless compared to the next she put out, said with almost longing. “Please Bucky, stay with him.” He watched her carefully, feeling as if the night they had just spent together, amongst each others arms had faded already. There was a chill in the room, in the space she had vacated and it made him uncertain.

“Don’t leave.” He wasn’t quite sure why he said this, wasn’t sure what he meant, and Darcy gave him a smile, calm and smooth.

“I’m just seeing Jane.” She squeezed his hand, reassured him so he again resisted the urge to wake Steve up. 

“I’ll keep the bed warm for you.” He said quietly, and Darcy’s face froze at that. She was watching him with eyes that seemed too big, too wide, and then she moved forward and was pressing her lips to his forehead. Anointing him with care, and her hand curled around the arc of his head, brushed against his hair. She held him like that and the tension in his chest unravelled, unfurled sweetly as he was once again overwhelmed by the feeling of her in his arms.

“I love you, both of you. More than I could have imagined.” The words were brushes against his hair but he heard them all the same. Held her hand tightly in his before she squeezed once, released it. Her easy smile touched only her lips as she stood up, and she looked at Steve blankly, once more, before leaving the room. Bucky blinked, flashes of black over his eyes, and she was gone. He shivered, once, violently and total body and pushed down the set adrift feeling that had engulfed him. Turning slowly on the bed he settled back down, eyes drifting over Steve as he slept. 

Bucky was scared, filled with dread, but he wouldn’t move. He trusted Darcy, had always trusted Darcy before he knew why he should, and not wouldn’t be any different. He reached out to Steve, brushed the soft hair around his face and forced himself to relax. Kept that space between them, the one now hand made for her, and waited for her to come back.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Darcy closed the door behind her and fought the urge to breakdown. She took a second there, in the hall, to let her face do as it wished and crumple. Lifted her hands to press the palms against her eyes, hard pressure to focus herself before she straightened up and met the gaze of the spy who was waiting for her. Nat didn’t seem concerned or any thing at all, only waited for Darcy to move before she did. They walked to the lift together, got in and pressed a button for the ground floor and Darcy finally spoke as they were moving.

“You’ll keep the letter safe?” Nat nodded next to her, head swinging in that graceful, brisk way.

“It’s safe. I’ll give it to her after you’ve left.” 

It was addressed to Jane, an apology, an everything. Pages and pages of feelings that she couldn’t say out loud. That Jane most likely wouldn’t be able to read for years, but that hopefully, could do something good in her absence. She was not going to see her again, she wasn’t going to see any of them again and the lies she’d told made head light as she moved it.

To the boys she had left nothing. She wanted her disappearance to be total, a blade sliding out of a wound and letting it heal unhindered. She had this idea that she could be erased totally, that by no longer being in this world it would free them from something, as if that had worked for her. This was the excuse she gave herself for not writing to them, for not producing some poorly crafted letter in lieu of an actual goodbye. In truth it was that she couldn’t do it, and it was one of a thousand selfish  choices she’d made.

That night with them hadn’t been planned, but Darcy had been unable to spend it apart from them. She had gotten to her room, been ready for bed, to sleep or to pretend until Nat came for her, when the space around her felt too much. The room too vast, the air too free and she needed to be confined to calm herself down. Her heart rattled and before she knew what she was doing, what her traitor body had planned, she’d gone, sought them out in something they would never say no to. She had weighed each word, each touch. Tried to balance it in her head to cause the least damage but still take what they all needed. It hadn’t worked, it wouldn’t work really and she hated it.

She’d slept fitfully, shallow and half aware of the time she would be needed to rise. She finally slept, and when she woke it was to a foreign land. Her body was warm, her arms were heavy, it was different to the world she’d left but just as sweet. She woke slowly, as if still dreaming, and that it was reality was a painful realisation. 

Her hands twitched for paper as they drove to the portal, for pen, for ink, for something to mark the world with. A stab of regret, one of many, that she wasn’t leaving them anything at all. Would they see that as a gift in years to come? And that night? How would they look back on that night? 

Would they know that she’d already made her decision, that really she was never going to leave with them, let their lives slip along with hers into the unknown? Or might they think, in some terribly cruel way, that she’d made it after spending time with them? Would they think that she’d been left wanting by who they were, by the night they’d shared? It was intolerable, they couldn’t be allowed to think that but she had no way to correct it, no way to fix it when it would take longer than she had left in this world to explain the truth of it all.

She took in a breath, sharp through her nose and the air was cold in the early morning. Nat was driving, the site not that far and Darcy had lost the endless energy she always carried before. The momentum that her grief gifted her, to seek out the other men so ceaselessly. Now she felt tired, drained, worn out by the choices she had made that led her to this place. She got changed as they drove, into thin, tough clothes that layered up. Suitable for any situation, cold, heat, rain, snow, and it struck her again, how little she knew of the world she was going to. They pulled into the building, the warehouse giving her chills, and she got out of the car slowly before heading upstairs.

There were guards, too many to count, around the building and within it but they passed through easily. Nat stepped calmly, certain in each movement even as Darcy’s head twisted round. A backpack was handed to Nat, filled to the brim with kit. A poor replacement for proper planning, but it would have to do. That iPod with all the songs she wanted to play them, it was tucked in, kept safely at the bottom and it thrum with promise. The woman looked through the bag, checked it over on the ground as Darcy waited there. Stood impatiently for someone to catch up with them, for guns to be pointed, accusations to be made and this plan to be derailed. But no one stopped them, no one said anything at all and it unsettled Darcy, she was prepared for it, needed something to fight against, to bring her view back around and let her grip tighter to this decision. Instead, the spy finished checking the bag over, and lifted it to Darcy’s shoulders like she was a child on her first day of school.

“I thought there would be more drama about me leaving.” Darcy said as Nat checked her over with her eyes, her hands, adjusting straps here and there. Her lip twitched at the comment, an eyebrow raised.

“You wanted a fight?”

“No.” Darcy answered quickly, honestly, but the lack of confrontation had her worried. Nat seemed to sense this, answered the question she hadn’t asked.

“If it’s a choice between you going alone, or with two of the world most valuable assets, Shield is always going to make this the easy option for you.” Blunt as always, and the words hardly jarred, only triggered a huff of breath.

“Is that why you’re doing this?” Darcy asked her, curious. Nat’s motivations didn’t particularly bother her anymore, not when they wanted the same thing this time. Nat’s hands stopped and she lingered, let them fall slowly as she considered the question.

“No.” She said finally, and with something like surprise. “It’s not.” Darcy watched her until she finally met her eyes, the woman almost fidgeting before controlling herself. Darcy took pity, said nothing sentimental or thankful. 

“You’ll make sure they don’t follow me.” It was a statement, one that Darcy needed confirmation on and Nat gave it.

“I will.” This destruction, after all, would be for nothing if they chased her into oblivion.

“They’re gonna be pretty angry with you.” Darcy felt a flash of guilt as she said it, at what she was putting everyone through for this. Nat’s place on the team, her life here, it would not be easy after this.

“I’ve had worse.” Nat replied easily, and gratitude was a warm bath Darcy could drown in.

“Ok.” She said softly and looked Natasha for the last time. Finally turned her head away to look at the exit, imagine two figures running towards her and calling her name. “Ok.” She said again and then she nodded at the guards either side of the door, got them to open the room and let her through. The door clicked behind her and she was alone.

The portal stood way over the other side of the room, and she knew it not by sight or sound but some other sense that powered her legs forward. It called to her with hope, with promises and that single minded focus was back, gripping her as she moved. Got closer and readied herself to take the last few steps. She made herself stop. Made her legs lead and it was only a second, a moment and then tears were a wave that broke over her eyes. 

She sniffed, eyes wide at the thing she couldn’t see, only feel. She couldn’t ignore it suddenly, the choice she was making. It wasn't as simple as walking forward and back to the men she left, she had known that from the start. The plans she’d made were weak despite Nat’s extensive drilling. It was rushed, it was all rushed because of her desperation and it ate at everyone. Their grief would be a roar, but her body too far away to hear. It hurt them all her leaving, and suddenly, belatedly, she realised how much it hurt her too.

Was she so naive to think that she could forget about them when she left? If she somehow survived. And even then, it wouldn’t just be guilt that hunted her, chased her down in the dead of night. It would be grief of her own, the truth of how much it would cost her to say goodbye to all of these people she loved. It was a closed door, in the midst of a tornado and that it would be flung open was inevitable.

She closed her eyes tight, tried to push it all away and suddenly she was back on that bridge again. It was so long ago, she remembered so little from that night. The wind, icy and cunning as it touched her skin. Her tears, ripped away like she was soon to be. Her desperation, complete and final, no real hope left to keep her afloat. How lonely she’d been, how completely destroyed she was. All she’d wanted was two sets of arms to hold her back. She longed for someone to stop her, begged for it so many times and yet here she was, on the other side of things, and those arms came without being called.

She could feel them now, a metal arm circling her waist, fingers spread over the curve of her hip. She was pulled back, pressed tight to Bucky’s front, his head resting on hers and Steve warmed her side. Had his arms round both of them, kept them close as if he couldn’t bear to lose them for one second. And another hand, smaller, softer, Jane’s palm sliding against her own. A grip on her upper arm, strong fingers with a light touch that could only belong to Natasha. So many more, Clint and Tony, and Bruce and Thor and a whole world of people she had grown up with, loved, lost once and now was leaving again.

It slapped her sharply across the face and Darcy was furious. Completely ruined because ignorance was better than this. All she wanted before was right here. Right here and why was she leaving? _For them_. She thought desperately, clinging to the focus she’d somehow let slip away. _For Steve and Bucky. Because I abandoned them before, because the guilt is too much to live with. Because I owe them this much after what I did._ The thoughts seemed weak suddenly, fragile when she poked them, ideas that crumbled in her mind under scrutiny.

Because if she thought about it, she knew that they forgave her. That they had always forgiven her, right from the start. It was her own guilt and her grief keeping her back, keeping her trapped. Stopping her from being happy here when really she could be. Really, she would be, if she only let herself. 

Jane was right, Nat, Bucky, Steve, they had all been right. And now she was going to do it anyway, out of what? Spite? Fear? Some kind of duty? Maybe she wanted to leave them this time, maybe she couldn’t bear to be the one abandoned by people she loved again and so was doing it herself. There were a hundred reasons she was going but was a single one good enough for those she left? Those arms held her tighter, those people pulled her further away from the edge but she still fought it. Instinctively pushed herself closer to the portal because it was all she’d known how to do for so long now. There was a question, ringing in her head, louder with every second.

What would be more impossible - Forgiving herself for leaving them once, or forgiving herself for leaving them all over again? 

Darcy opened her eyes, and was surprised to not see water below her. The hands were gone, as was the question and she was alone, looking at the portal, an answer in her head.

“I love you.” She said quietly, barely more than a whisper. “I miss you.” And then finally, her body moving before she’d finished speaking. “Goodbye.”

Darcy stepped back from the portal.

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So she’s staying (woohoo). Originally, she was going to leave them, but I actually like these guys and it’s easier to give up on the boys you never really wrote than the ones you have so this is the outcome. I also toyed with them all going to look for the original boys together because there would have been so much heartbreak - Darcy’s guilt for taking them on a wild goose chase, them finally finding them, the sheer angst of these boys watching her reunited with people they couldn’t compare too. But I settled on this. 
> 
> There’ll be another chapter added in, I was gonna do her coming back to them in this one but it was getting long and you guys have definitely waited long enough. I’m writing it now, so fingers crossed I’ll post this week (with a warning to read this one first obviously). 
> 
> Next Time: Fluff. Kissing. Joy. Basically the apology and snuggle tour of Darcy telling everyone she’s staying and how damn happy that makes them. Also mess, obviously and a better explanation of why she's doing this if it's not already clear.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines! So I hadn’t planned to post this today but obviously the imaginary valentines spirit got to me so here you go. No clue why it took so long, but the epilogue should be here soon(ish) I really hope.
> 
> Also I’ve kept this whole thing teen so sorry for the lack of sexy consummation in this. I might write an epic sex fest as a spin off but also I kind of like these guys as old timey romantics so it's very, very unsatisfyingly pg. You're welcome? :P
> 
> I am in love with your comments on the last chapter and all the others. Even though I didn't reply to all of them I routinely read them because they are the most amazing incentive to write so thank you so much.

* * *

 

 

 

Darcy knocked on the door firmly. Three times and each one louder than the last. Her skin itched, and while she felt no pull backwards, behind her to the portal, Darcy knew the sooner she got out of the room the better. The cry of it seemed quiet now, a low humming, meant to bring comfort before sleep, not draw someone away from their loved ones. The door opened finally, almost a minute later, and it was Nat on the other side. She let Darcy past, closed the door quickly but said nothing. Her green eyes were intense, tracking over her body, rapid movements that were out of character before they finally fixed her firmly to the spot. Her expression was unreadable, her body balanced as if she was on uneven ground. When she spoke, it was as if a whole conversation had passed Darcy wasn’t privy too.

“You’re sure?” She asked, and the question settled Darcy’s skin. Made her almost giddy for a moment, because her own reply was true.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Natasha watched her inscrutably before she reached forward, undid the straps across Darcy’s body. Clicked the pieces with care, even though Darcy could manage on her own, and it was a mirror of minutes earlier, but it felt like days. The soft snick of latches, buckles and ties and Darcy watched Nat with a smile curling her lips. When she was finally done she slid the backpack off of Darcy’s shoulders and lifted it onto her own easily, took her weight without being asked to, once again. She stared at her for too long before blinking, in that deliberate measured way, the emotions shown in between too quick to process. She seemed softer somehow, even though she undoubtedly hadn’t changed and Darcy was drowning in relief that she hadn’t just left this woman behind.

“We better go tell the others.” Nat said, a small smile forming around her eyes. “They’ll be happy too.” Darcy smiled at her word choice, at her arms which in no way wanted to reach forward and hug despite the joy she would feel. She didn’t ask what would happen to the portal as they started to walk away, she didn’t want to know.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Darcy opened the apartment door quietly, Nat seeing her to it like a bodyguard, promising to tell the others, excluding Jane, that the plan was off and she needed some time to herself. It felt selfish to not do it herself, to not explain to the people she’d hurt, one by one, that she had changed her mind. Nat had shrugged when she’d said this, hadn’t denied it, but not given her an option to change it either. Then she had reached into her jacket, unzipped the side and held out to Darcy, that letter she had written to Jane.

Burn it, she wanted to say. She wanted it gone, evicerated, as if it’s existence had never been.   She knew if she kept it, she would, at some point in the future, crack it open to read. All those justifications, a reminder of the choice she’d made, the hurt she would have caused. Darcy had had enough self loathing to last a lifetime, she didn’t need something like that easily accessible in the dark hours.

“Get rid of it.” She said, mouth twisting as she scuffed her shoe against the floor.

“You don’t have to tell them.” Nat said, and they held each others gaze for a moment, long seconds of arguments before Darcy replied quietly. 

“But I will.” Nat nodded her head in response, kept her thoughts to herself, and left with no goodbye.

The door was open of course, because they always expected her to return. She pushed it quietly, the pace of her heart contained to only her chest, as she moved carefully into the room. Inside she was afloat, but she walked slowly, gently on the ground, a belated hope that they might still be in bed waiting for her. Darcy couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. The relief was so great, so total that Darcy wondered how she’d lasted these long years without feeling it. She knew, at some point, there would be guilt. Regret in some form, even for this choice, but it would never compare to how she would feel if she had left them.  It was freedom and acceptance, she was lifted by the idea that she could just be, finally. That she didn’t have to question every reaction, every move or decision. It was intoxicating, and she forgot for a moment, before she saw the boys there in the living room, that there was another set she used to compare them to.

She had caught them on the precipice of decision. Even sitting they were full of motion, strong legs ready to run, to chase, to find, if only one of them aired the doubts they had both been feeling. They were deciding if they give in to what they both felt - dread, fear, acceptance that the person they thought she was could do this thing and leave them so carelessly. They were there waiting for her, and she couldn’t bear to imagine if she hadn’t come back.

They turned as she let out a breath, and Darcy stopped, a little way way from them, hands itching for skin as she waited for the reckoning. She was in tack gear, the clothes she was wearing to jump, and if they hadn’t put the pieces together before then the sight of it would be enough. Steve’s eyes clung to it, to the layers of protection, his face speckled with confusion, while Bucky eyes only met hers, solid and warm.

“I’d like to stay here. I’d like to be here, with both of you.” She blurted the words out, let them fall and gathered her courage. 

“Darcy-“ Steve said, happiness an explosion on his face and she cut him off. Wanted to get the worst of it out now before it festered.

“I was going to go this morning.” He fell silent. “I was at the portal, I was gonna go without you.”

“What?” Steve said, and tender pink drained from his cheeks. He must have known, but hearing it from her was something else, had a different reaction. He turned to Bucky, seemed to seek help, or an alternative truth but Bucky was unfazed, only asked questions in that stiff, calm way he had.

“Why didn’t you?” The question was so big, so broad it took her a moment to answer in a way he could make sense of. 

“I can’t cause that much pain.” She said it to both of them, Bucky watching her with a relentless gaze, and Steve, facing his lap as he tried to process it.

“You didn’t want to hurt us?” Bucky said, and now his voice was tense. A furrow had appeared in his brow and she understood what he was saying. That he was asking her if that was all. If she was staying out of guilt, to not cause pain, and not because she wanted to.

“I didn’t want to hurt any of us.” She said firmly, and then because she could finally say it-

“I love you. Not because of them, but in spite of them.” Darcy fidgeted but spoke clearly, didn’t want any room for misunderstanding. “I think staying here with you, being here with both of you… I don’t think anything else would make me happier.” The words were bright lights in a dark room, fading into silence. No one moved, no one spoke, and those lies she told that morning, the thing she’d done hung over them.

“You left?” This was from Steve, still looking down. He sounded so small, so young and she wanted to stroke his hair and soothe him. She had been terrified of this, that she had written her future already, that he would be unable to see anything past that decision.

“She came back.” That was Bucky, a firm reply, an undertone that said - _What're you doing punk? Listen to what she’s sayin’ now._   He spoke again, quiet, but daring to be hopeful. “To be with us?” Darcy was already nodding her head, letting the smile inside split her voice, clung onto the hope he gave and let it grow exponentially.

“Yeah. To be with you.” _Do you hear now?_ She thought. _Am I clear enough? I want this, I want both of you, and us and everything we can be._ Darcy had a sudden, piercing moment of doubt. “If you’ll have me.” 

“If we’ll have you?” Steve said voice shocked. And then, finally, looking up, he seemed to realise she was telling the truth. He saw what Bucky did, what he was waiting to react to because Steve was still processing. He finally allowed himself to do what they did, and believe it, accept it, and his whole face split open with delight. 

Then Bucky was moving and she’d forgotten that, how with the other boys she’d needed an extra set of eyes. How one of them would distract her and the other one would nip in, quick as anything, to sweep her off her feet. His arms grabbed her, pulled her to his chest and her hands were up and round his neck in a second. Darcy let out a breath, huffed it against his skin and squeezed her eyes shut as he buried his face in her neck. His beard brushed against her, and his words hummed after.

“Whatever you want from us, it’s yours.” He pulled her impossibly tighter and her heart squeezed. “Whatever you want.” The promise was clear, but the choice left to her and she was overwhelmed, as always, by the space they gave her. She pulled back and kissed him, like she’d wanted to from the start. His lips were soft, warm and when she opened her mouth lick inside they spread like butter. She pulled back, skin flushed and prickly, unable to comprehend how she’d resisted doing that for so long. Steve was there, watching them, pupils blown and Darcy reached for him, curled her hand around his head and bought his lips to hers.

She could finally see them both how they were, to touch and kiss them both as the men she loved and not ghosts she’d been chasing. There was so much they hadn’t talked about. How she’d lied, how they hated when Steve fought, how they’d never had a third, had no real experience of a relationship like this but she wasn’t scared. She was excited, as twisted as it was. She wanted this, all of this and as she kissed Steve, felt them both pressed against her, their love finally dug into her skin, she couldn’t imagine this having ended any other way.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I have to talk to Jane. Really this time. Would you walk me there?” They were in bed, the three of them folded over each other, limbs laying and Steve’s fingers stopped as they traced her curls. 

“‘Course.” Bucky said, lifting her hand to kiss it she turned, watched his other hand stroke Steve’s shoulder in comfort. He smiled at her, not the lady killer one he had years ago, or the cold, vacant smile of the soldier but his actual smile, a bit crooked, too toothy, and completely intoxicating. It was so easy. So completely natural with them, and she refused to believe it was because of the men the looked like. It was something else, something about the three of them that just worked, like they had known it would and now Darcy had stopped fighting it she could finally see that too. _I’m so happy_. She wanted to say, but there was no point saying something they all felt, so she just smiled back, helpless and hopeless in the face of how she felt for them both.

Joy was fizzing in her stomach, excited puppies rolling on the floor and if her happiness had a lid it had been ripped off. They kissed in the hallway like teenagers, her sandwiched between the two of them, lips kissing her, each other, palms on the soft curve of her belly. They left her, a kiss from each of them, a squeeze of her hand and they all watched each other as the door to the lift closed.

Darcy stared after them, her smile a thing that had to be smothered now. Trod on repeatedly like a fire that refused to be put out but she braced herself, let her happiness dim so she could have this conversation.

“Jane.” She knocked firmly on her friends door, leaned against the side of the frame and spoke loudly. “Jane open the door.” There was quiet, and then slow footsteps, a pause before the command.

“Leave.”

“Jane.” Darcy said, and it would almost have been funny if it didn’t make her insides twist.

“Leave.” Darcy sighed, pressed her forehead against the door and let her smile leak into her words.

“I’m staying.”

“I’m not going to speak to you.” She had been crying, Darcy could tell by her voice and she winced.

“No Jane, _I’m staying_.” There was a breath in, only just heard through the door. 

“You’re staying?” So small and soft, before she was firmer. “For how long?” She sounded so cynical, and Darcy closed her eyes.

“Forever. I’m here. I’m staying here.” She spoke firmly, left no room for disbelief but Jane had heard that tone before.

“Don’t fuck with me.” Here was the lioness again, the one Darcy had seen that day, and what a strange mirror this conversation was to that one.

“I’m not. I’m staying here.” She said, and then, because she was- “I’m so sorry for what I put you through.” The door sprung open and Darcy leaned back, saw her friend standing there. Her eyes were red, the floor was littered with paper and bits of machine and guilt curled quickly in her gut before she brushed it away. Jane walked forward, closer to Darcy and despite her size, her tiny-ness, there was something almost threatening about her. Her face held barely a glimpse of hope, and the questions she asked demanded utter truth in response. 

“You promise me?”

“Yes.”

“Forever?”

“Yes.”

“Even if the portal goes there? If we find out it goes to them?”

“Yes. This is my home. I don’t want to leave.” 

Her friend fell silent, and then asked a question so astute, Darcy wondered how she kept on underestimating this woman.

“You’ll really _be here_? Finally?” Darcy blinked, a quick flutter, breath taken from her as she realised what Jane meant. She swallowed, took her time, and let her friend know that she understood the promise she was making.

“Yeah, I will. I’m here.” Janes' eyes flitted between hers, and then she broke, leapt forward and hugged her.

“Darcy.” She said, and she held her back, felt tears spring in her eyes. And then they were both talking, speaking into each others hair, apologies and regret, sadness but overall relief. So much relief and Jane shone with it, she pulled her inside with energy, sat her down on the sofa and then hugged her again. 

There would be time to tell her everything. To tell her tales of the past, for explanations, for everything she wanted her to know and so now she said little. She was so glad, again, that she stayed, Darcy really didn’t know if she would have survived leaving.

“So, have you told the boys?” Jane asked later, side by side with her on the sofa.

“Yeah I have.” She said quietly, a grin pulling on her lips. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this, embarrassment, a sweet bloom against her cheeks. 

“And?” Jane teased, smile wide and wicked.

“And it went well.” Darcy rubbed her nose, hid her face behind her sleeve and Jane positively cackled. She had forgotten this, how a smile, like a feeling, could rebound and double, triple, fill up your whole body when the people you loved reflected it back.

“Go on then, go back to bed.” 

“Jane!” Darcy said, her face suddenly very red.

“Like that’s not where you were.” Jane practically waggled her eyebrows and Darcy had forgotten that Jane loved to tease like this.

“Jane!”

“Go, go already, before I change my mind.” She pushed Darcy away, laughing before suddenly grabbing her and pulling her in for a hug. 

“I love you. You’re staying.” Darcy gripped her back, wrapped her arms as tight as they would and tried to push the doubt out of her friends body.

“I’m staying. Forever.” She said, and Jane let out a breath, said the word like a dream she couldn’t yet believe.

“Forever.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the portal - I don’t know where it goes. They don’t ever find out, and I think it’s better that way. I wanted these last chapters to be exploring belief and how far faith could carry someone, so I’ll leave it to you whether it goes to the Red String or not. I don’t know if it would have changed her decision to leave if she had known 100% it went to her boys, but she was always on the edge right til the end. I really think she loves both sets equally, and I hope that comes through and this doesn’t suddenly seem like a turn around from how the fics been going. 
> 
> The last chapter will be the epilogue, and possibly? the start of the fic in the Red String that I may or may not get round to writing.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, I live for comments :3


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